


Trading Favours

by missunderstood88



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, HP: EWE, Humor, Ministry of Magic, Romance, Scotland, Stalking, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, blaise is the best, blaise uses them tho, hermione doesnt use her words, neither does draco, sarcasm everywhere, they snark ALOT, trading favours
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2098494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missunderstood88/pseuds/missunderstood88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Malfoy," she said pleadingly and he sighed impatiently.</p><p>"Look, Granger, this is the <b>Department of Mysteries</b>," he said. "We don't have Admin or Research positions – we do our own Admin and we do our own research. It'll take six months at least to get you apprenticed and trained up in one of the rooms, and that's something I'm going to have to do personally given how short staffed I am. Now, I'm willing to do you a favour, but I'm going to need one in return. In six months, we have a year-long project coming down from Scotland, and as much as I hate to admit this, I could really use your brain on this one. So it's eighteen months, or nothing," he finished firmly.</p><p>Hermione sat and stared at him in silence, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Draco sat and calmly stared back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Deal with the Devil.

**Author's Note:**

> So I thought I would return to my roots and to my very first OTP. Just a fun plot bunny that hit me. No idea how long this is going to be, I'm just going with the flow.
> 
> Anyway, Cead Mile Fàilte (A Hundred Thousand Welcomes) to you all, and I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter One – A Deal with the Devil.**

 

"Malfoy."

Draco sighed heavily through his nose and his lips thinned in obvious disapproval, but the quill in this hand did not stop in its rapid journey back and forth across the parchment spread in front of him.

"Granger," was his terse reply, but he said nothing else and did not look up. He heard the rustle of her clothes as she shifted her weight and her own huffing sigh as he continued to ignore her. He felt his irritation spike again as her foot began tapping out a rapid, impatient tattoo on the expensive marble floor of his office.

"Malfoy!"

"What, Granger?" he snapped, finally raising his eyes to look at her and not-quite-slamming his quill down onto his expensive mahogany desk.

Hermione scowled at him, her hands resting on her hips and she seemed to be on the verge of lecturing him on the proper etiquette of greeting a guest when her lips thinned in to an expression identical to the one he had worn moments before and she dropped her lands from their resting place to straighten the tailored jacket of her – Draco had to admit – very sharp, grey suit.

"May I come in?" she asked stiffly, clearly still disapproving at his lack of manners, but Draco was finding it very hard to care about this as he settled back into his costly Dragon Hide chair and waved a dismissive hand at one of the equally impressive chairs in front of his desk.

"I hardly think you're going to give me much choice in the matter," he said disdainfully. Hermione stalked forward and settled herself onto the edge of the indicated seat. "So tell me, what new and incredibly sadistic plan have you come up with for making my life hell today, then, Granger?"

Again Hermione's lips thinned as she fought the urge to lash out at him and instead settled for nervously clearing her throat.

"I want you to give me a job," she said primly.

"You want me to-"

"Give me a job, yes," she said. "I'm going to submit my transfer request to Broster later on today and I'd like for you to accept it, for your part."

Draco stared at her, his face carefully blank and his body entirely still. He was trying to quickly process how he had managed to get from drafting this quarter's assignments to Hermione Granger asking him for a job in the space of five minutes. He was coming up blank. He watched her fidget nervously, straightening the platinum inkpots and crystal Firewhiskey decanter by her left elbow, giving himself time to think. He felt his eyebrows rise of their own accord as she turned her eyes back to him expectantly.

"It'll only be for six months until they re-open applications to Magical Law Enforcement," she burst out, nervously. "And I'm happy to do whatever job you think I'd be best suited to – Admin or research- Christ, even tea girl-"

Draco raised his hand to cut off her tirade. For a fleeting moment he was tempted to laugh out-right at her, but petulant, spoilt and spiteful as he was, Draco Malfoy was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever that meant. Everyone was desperate to get their hands on Hermione Granger at the moment, professionally speaking. Draco Malfoy was no exception.

"I'll accept the transfer," he said quietly and Hermione deflated as she breathed out an explosive sigh of release. "But! But, I want you to hold out on submitting your transfer request until tomorrow. This will be subject to you agreeing to my terms and I need time to seriously think this over."

Draco couldn't supress the twitch of his lips as Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "As it is, I haven't got time to go through it all today," he said by way of explanation. "But, if you come back half an hour before you start work tomorrow we can discuss things then and make sure you're happy with my terms before submitting your transfer request."

Hermione's eyes remained narrowed as she quickly looked him over before giving a sharp nod of acquiescence. Draco gave a sharp nod of his own and leaned forward to pick up his abandoned quill, clearly letting her know that she had been dismissed.

Draco couldn't help the smirk that pulled at the corner of his mouth as he listened to Hermione's footsteps echo out of his office and stared unseeingly at the parchment in front of him. Whatever had her on the run from The Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, she clearly didn't want to tell Potter and Weasley about it, and it was a desperate enough situation that she had come to him.

Draco's day was made immeasurably better by the knowledge that life was not going as smoothly as the Golden Trio would have people believe.

* * *

Draco sat calmly observing an irritated Hermione Granger over his steepled fingers and taking a quiet pleasure in her obvious discomfort. She was clearly stuck between a rock and a hard place, and whilst Draco was not going to say no to an opportunity like this, neither did he have any intention of making this any easier for her.

"If you don't mind, Malfoy. I have to be up on the sixth floor in twenty minutes," she huffed impatiently.

"Have you ever been late, Granger?"

"Never," she snapped.

"Then I'm sure it's not going to hurt this once, is it?" he said smoothly and leaned forward to rest his fore arms upon his desk. "Unless you're not overly bothered about this transfer, in which case you're free to leave." He raised a challenging, platinum eyebrow at her.

He watched with a satisfaction that warmed his heart as she ground her teeth together in annoyance, her jaw working furiously before she threw herself back into the chair and crossed her legs, bobbing her foot agitatedly.

"Now," said Draco briskly. "My first condition is that you tell me why you're so desperate to leave Broster's team. And I'd like the truth please."

"Why?"

"Why?" Draco's eyebrows rose into an approximation if innocent puzzlement. He wasn't entirely sure what innocent puzzlement was supposed to look like – it had been a while since he'd done anything innocently. "You obviously have intentions of going into MLE, but seem incapable of holding out another six months with AMR. In fact, you seem so opposed to the idea of sticking it out that, despite our … ah …  _tumultuous_  personal history, you'd rather work for me. Now, as a responsible and dedicated Head of Department, this strikes me as something I should be concerned with in a potential secondment candidate," he said with a polite smile.

Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously as she glared at him from across the desk and she crossed her arms defensively as her foot began to bob faster. Draco took a moment to savour the fact that for the first time in fifteen years, he had finally gotten one over on Hermione Granger.

"I can entrust this matter to your  _discretion_?" She sneered at him, sounding very much like she doubted its very existence. Draco smiled widely.

"I am the very essence of discretion itself," he goaded her and Hermione snorted disbelievingly.

"I have run into some problems with a co-worker," she said stiffly. Draco continued to smile politely at her and motioned for her to continue, at which Hermione made a disgusted noise at the back of her throat. "Well it's … well … to be honest, it's Stevenson," she said sharply and her cheeks flushed a dark red.

"Still interested, is he?" Draco asked, enjoying himself immensely and Hermione gave him a dirty look.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, he is." Draco watched her anger simmer away below the surface for a moment before she burst out again. "It's just getting a bit out of hand now. He obviously doesn't know when to give up – the man's clearly unhinged. It's really starting to get quite frightening now."

"So why don't you just go to Broster?" Draco asked obviously. Hermione gave him a flat look and he chucked softly. "Silly me, you already have. Of course you have," he said derisively and tittered. "Dear me, that almost sounds like a case of sexual harassment." Hermione snorted her agreement. "So why don't you file a sexual harassment complaint then?"

"Because with six months to go until MLE applications, I hardly see the point in creating a fuss when I can just remove the problem," she ground out. Draco snorted.

"You don't want the publicity, you mean. Look!" he said, cutting off her shriek of outrage. "I get it, I understand. It's got to be hard enough working with an idiot like Stevenson, without him pawing at you all day." Hermione's lips twitched. "I can fully appreciate you reasons for wanting to move on."

"All right," said Hermione, slowly, startled. "What are the other terms?"

"Just one."

"Which is?"

"I'm afraid your time frame doesn't work for me."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean six months is no good to me."

"And what  _would_  be good for you?"

"Eighteen months, at least."

" _EIGHTEEN_ … absolutely not!"

"No?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow and tutting as Hermione emphatically shook her head. "That's a shame. Well, it was a pleasure talking to you, Granger, but I'm afraid I'll have to reject your request for a transfer," he said and reached forward to grab his quill in a dismissive gesture. Hermione's hand shot out instinctively to grab his wrist.

"Malfoy," she said pleadingly and he sighed impatiently.

"Look Granger, this is the  _Department of Mysteries_ ," he said. "We don't have Admin or Research positions – we do our own Admin and we do our own research. It'll take six months  _at least_  to get you apprenticed and trained up in one of the rooms, and that's something I'm going to have to do personally given how short staffed I am. Now, I'm willing to do you a favour, but I'm going to need one in return. In six months, we have a year-long project coming down from Scotland, and as much as I hate to admit this, I could really use your brain on this one. So it's eighteen months, or nothing," he finished firmly.

Hermione sat and stared at him in silence, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Draco sat and calmly stared back.

"What kind of project?" she said finally and Draco smiled ironically.

"Well you see, it's a bit of a mystery, that's sort of the point." Hermione glared at him. "What I can tell you," he said enticingly, "is that it will involve a lot of field work – that means away from the Ministry and Stevenson – _and_  we're being given access to the Edinburgh archives for the duration of the project."

Hermione continued to watch him in silence, although she was no longer scowling and had now progressed to chewing on her bottom lip.

"Oh, and we'll have un-restricted access to the Library in the Eileen Donan sub castle, too" he said casually, inspecting his nails. He looked up in time to see her take a deep breath.

"Eighteen months?" Hermione said. "And I'll be free to go to MLE?" Draco couldn't prevent the grin that spread across his face.

"Granger, eighteen months and you could go to the moon for all I care." Hermione paused, watched him for a moment more and then gave a jerky nod of her head. "We have a deal?" Draco asked.

"Yes."

"Excellent," said Draco spreading his arms expansively and smiling broadly. "In that case, I shall expect Broster's Owl this afternoon and you first thing Monday morning."

Without further ado, Draco turned to the pile of parchment scrolls on his desk and reached for the first one. Hermione left his office quietly without another word.

Things, Draco decided, were looking up.

* * *

"Granger?"

"That's what I said."

"As in Hermione Granger? Top of our year, Hermione Granger? Scourge of Voldemort and Death Eaters alike? Gryffindor princess and the only member of the Golden Trio with a brain?"

"The very same."

Blaise Zabini gave a low whistle. "How in Merlin's name did you manage that one?" Draco shrugged.

"She came to me yesterday lunchtime to ask if I'd take her on for a six month secondment. I told her to come back this morning and we'd discuss my terms. We discussed and she agreed."

"Just like that? No fuss, no fighting, no arguing? She just up and agreed to extend the secondment to eighteen months?"

"I can be very persuasive, Zabini."

"And pray tell, what did you use to persuade her?" Blaise laughed suggestively and Draco gave him a scolding look.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Zabini. I told her about the Edinburgh Archives and Eileen Donan. And I think the prospect of extended time away from the Ministry and away from Stevenson pretty much closed the deal for her."

"Christ, is Stevenson still trying it on with her?"

"Apparently – she said that's why she's so desperate to get out of AMR."

"That bad?" Draco shrugged. "Why doesn't she just go to Broster?"

"She has."

"And Broster has done what?"

"What do you think Broster's done? The woman couldn't care less if Stevenson kept Granger as a sex slave as long as she turns up for work, does her job and doesn't cause a fuss."

There was a brief pause in conversation as both men turned back to their plates to eat in silence.

"Okay, so you've played on her unnatural obsession with books, her vanity and her need to know everything about anything to get her in for the next eighteen months. How are you planning on getting her to stay?"

"I've been trying for the past two and a half years to get the opportunity that she walked in and handed to me on a plate. If it keeps up like this, I don't think I'm going to have to do anything."

"Draco …"

"Yes, Blaise, I know." Draco took a sip of wine. "I'm thinking we need to get her through the next six months first and then we can start thinking about how to get her to stay. Rest assured, Blaise. Every department in the Ministry has been after Granger since she left Hogwarts. Right now, that's a race I'm winning and also one I have no intention of losing. We'll get her."

Again there was a short pause.

"Why didn't she go to Potter?" Draco looked up from his plate, clearly confused.

"Pardon?"

"This whole thing with Stevenson. Why didn't she just go to Potter and Weasley about it? They're supposed to be her best friends."

"They also have about as much common sense as this table. They'd have stormed into AMR with their wands blazing, and that would have been Hermione causing a fuss as far as Broster is concerned. And Granger's certainly not going to ask Potter for a secondment."

"Why not?" Draco shot Blaise a withering look.

"How would you like to work for, and take orders from, someone who is only alive because you happen to be smarter than them and were forced to use that intelligence to stop them from getting themselves killed? Also take into account that Potter would never have passed his Auror entrance exams if she hadn't coached him the whole way through. Granger is a prideful creature."

"Okay, that's understandable enough. But what doesn't make sense is why she chose you? I mean, you two aren't friends; you can't even be in the same room together for more than ten minutes before its Wands at ten paces. Why did she pick the Department of Mysteries when she could have gone anywhere else and they would have welcomed her with open arms?" Draco gave Blaise a look which was clearly meant to indicate his concern for the man's mental capacity.

"Because the Department of Mysteries is the only place in the entire Ministry that Stevenson has no access rights to," Draco explained, speaking as though Blaise were mentally deficient. Blaise, whose blush could not be seen for the dark hues of his skin, gave Draco a piercing look.

"You seem to have given this a lot of thought." Draco shrugged again.

"I've been an Unspeakable for eight years. Given what I deal with on a daily basis, figuring out people and how they think is fairly easy." Blaise grunted. "You, however, don't seem to think so. If figuring out something as simple as the human mind is such hard work for you, perhaps it's something we should discuss at your next appraisal. I'm concerned."

"No, you're not. You would be, if I specialised in anything other than Space, a specialisation you know I chose because it affords me the luxury of not having to interact with anyone other than you, my mother and Croaker. I'll leave people and the way they think to those weirdos over in Thought." Draco shook his head wonderingly.

"I bet those weirdos would love to get a look inside your head. You're a right case." Blaise snorted again and pointed his fork at Draco.

"And if I am, I learnt at the hand of the master. You, Draco, are the biggest head-case I've ever met in my life. One conversation with you would give Freud a conniption fit."

"Who the hell is Freud?"

"An extremely radical Muggle psychologist."

"Of course he is. Well, I think we'll both be safe from anyone over in Thought. Once Granger's on the scene, they'll be wetting their pants with excitement." Blaise made a vague sound of agreement.

"Have you given any thought to where you're going to put her?"

"I'm going to let her choose. If I'm going to try and get her to stay on after the eighteen months then I need her to get invested in something. No point picking somewhere for her and she ends up hating it."

"Who have you picked to apprentice her?"

"Me." Blaise's fork clanged loudly as it hit his plate.

" _What_?"

"I'm going to apprentice her." Draco smirked and eyed Blaise speculatively. "So I'm going to need you to give me a hand with all of the Bureaucratic stuff."

"You want me to do your job whilst you play shop with Granger?"

"No, I want you to help me manage the department whilst I dedicate some time to training and retaining the department's best acquisition since  _we_  started." Blaise smirked.

"You know how to smooth talk a man, Draco Malfoy."

"Don't flatter yourself, Zabini."

"For that, you're getting the bill."

* * *

Hermione Granger was nervous.

She was also excited. Hermione could think of nothing more exciting than exploring the mysteries of the universe. But more than that, she was undeniably nervous. She wasn't entirely sure that in her attempt to get away from an overzealous – terrifyingly overzealous – admirer and the daily torture that situation brought that she hadn't inadvertently jumped out of the frying pan and landed right in the fire.

She would now be working for Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy was her boss! For the next eighteen months she was, for all intents and purposes, at his mercy.

At least Stevenson wasn't allowed down here.

Steeling her resolve, Hermione stepped into the open door-way of Malfoy's office. He was there – of course he was there – his head bent over one of the many books that were spread across his desk, his blond hair falling forward to conceal his face from her view. Hermione took a moment to observe him, his shoulders relaxed and broad beneath his crisp white shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled up past this elbows and baring the pale skin of his leanly muscled fore arms. Her eyes continued down to his long fingered and perfectly manicured hands curled around the corners of the book he was reading.

_Some things never change_ , Hermione thought to herself as an image of him in exactly the same position in the Hogwarts library flashed through her head.

"Come in, Granger. Have a seat, I'll be with you in a moment." His voice was so much deeper these days. The voice of a man, and not the teenager who had tried so hard to terrorise her and her friends at school. His eyes never once left the book in his hands and Hermione stepped quietly into the room and settled herself into a chair across from him.

Hermione had been in this office a thousand times before – accidental magical injuries and crises were wont to happen when playing with forces that no one understood – but today was different. She wasn't here brainstorming on how best to give someone back their eyesight whilst maintaining their newly acquired clairvoyant abilities. Or de-scaling the unfortunate person who had apparently been looking into the evolutionary process of Dragons. She was no longer here as an equal to Draco Malfoy. She was here as his direct subordinate, and the thought sent a shiver down her spine.

"Coffee?"

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione squeaked, turning her eyes back to Malfoy who was now watching her carefully, although his carefully blank face betrayed no emotion.

"Would you like some coffee?"

"Oh! Yes, please." Draco gave a lazy wave of his wand and a bolt of light streaked past Hermione and out of the door.

"I'm glad you're in early," said Malfoy, settling down to business. "There's quite a lot of paperwork to get through before I can actually let you into any of the rooms. By the time we get through that and I tell you what 's expected of you, the guys should be here and I can show you around."

Hermione stared blankly back at Malfoy. This was really happening. What was she doing?

"Unless, of course, you'd rather wait," said Malfoy, misinterpreting her silence. "You don't actually start work for another forty minutes."

"No! No, it's fine," said Hermione mildly. The civility between them was unsettling her and she was completely unsure of her footing here. A hint of a knowing smirk formed on Malfoy's lips and her stomach turned.

"Marvellous," he drawled. "Oh, look, here's Lewis with the coffee."

Twenty five minutes and one aching hand later, Draco Malfoy was finally handing over the last roll of parchment for Hermione to sign.

The pile had seemed endless, and in some cases, the documents she had been required to sign had been rather surprising.

"The Official Secrets Act?" Hermione has asked upon unrolling the fourth roll of parchment that Malfoy had handed her from the enormous pile stacked beside his desk.

"Well, we don't want you running off and selling our wonderful secret discoveries to other counties now, do we, Granger?"

"Is this serious? I'm really expected to absolve the Ministry of any blame should I Spontaneously combust, with immediate effect from the moment I take up occupation within the Department of Mysteries? This hasn't actually happened, has it?" she had asked somewhere around the twenty third roll.

"Not in the past ten years, it hasn't"

"My Floo address? Permission to use the information as you see fit at any time? This one's a joke, right?" Roll forty eight.

"Certainly not. The information will be shared with everyone in the department and their information will be shared with you. I think you'll be surprised at how often you'll be using it."

"I'm not giving you a blood, hair or skin sample and I am not giving you permission to use it for research or security purposes." Roll sixty two … or was it sixty three?

"Then I'm not giving you a secondment, and be sure to give Stevenson my regards when you get back to AMR."

Hermione heaved a weary sigh and eyed the final scroll suspiciously.

"What more could I possibly have to sign, Malfoy? I've signed away everything to you but my soul."

"Your contract," and the way he said it made it sound like she  _was_  about to sign away her soul. Hermione swallowed thickly. This was it, once she signed this she was committed to Malfoy for eighteen months. She read over the simple contract twice before quickly scribbling her signature and handing it back to Malfoy. Hermione watched him accept the parchment with unconcealed joy.

"And that's everything," said Malfoy placing the scroll back on top of the pile and vanishing them all with a flick of his wand, before turning back to smile grimly at her. "No getting away now, Granger."

Hermione felt the heavy weight of foreboding settle in her stomach.

 


	2. The First Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only reason I'm putting this up so quick is that the first two chapters were already written and reviewed. Can't say all of my updates will be this quick!

** Chapter Two – The First Day. **

 

Contrary to popular belief, Draco Malfoy was a man who was extremely fond of having fun. If this fun happened to be at the expense of someone he didn’t like, then that was even better.

It was for this reason that, when he came across the lanky figure of Richard Stevenson skulking around a corridor a short distance from his office, he simply couldn’t resist the temptation.

“Stevenson,” said Draco coldly, and he watched in grim amusement as the man in question jumped and pulled his head out from the room he had been peering into, to look guiltily over his shoulder.

“Malfoy,” he said nervously and turned fully to face Draco, who looked him over disdainfully. He couldn’t blame Granger for not being interested; Stevenson was a middle aged, tall, gangling and undeniably ugly man who apparently wasn’t averse to a bit of light stalking. Draco smiled cruelly at him.

“Lost, are you?” Stevenson shifted nervously.

“Lost? No, no just ...” the man trailed off, his protuberant eyes frantically flying around the corridor looking for an excuse for his unwarranted presence in the Department of Mysteries.

“Just out for a walk?” Draco asked pleasantly, but the icy undertone to his voice was unmistakable, and he began to slowly stalk towards Stevenson. “Three floors below your own offices?” The man seemed to diminish in size as he cowered away from Draco’s approaching form. “In a corridor you’re not allowed to be in?”

Draco now stood directly in front of him. Stevenson was a tall man, but Draco still towered over him, assisted by an extra three inches compared to the other mans six foot frame, and a leanly muscled physique which made Stevenson’s scrawny limbs appear fragile by comparison. “What are you doing down here, Stevenson?”

“I’m just ... I’m just looking for ...”

“Looking for ...? You wouldn’t be looking for Granger now, would you?”

Granger was currently still sat in his office two corridors away with a fresh cup of coffee and a book that he had given her with a strong recommendation that she read it this week.

Stevenson’s face and neck flushed an angry red and he stared defiantly back at Draco. “She _is_ my friend. We’ve worked together for nearly eight years. Why shouldn’t I want to see how she’s getting on, her first day in a new department?” Draco tittered condescendingly at him.

“I wonder what your wife would say,” He whispered maliciously at Stevenson. “I wonder what your children would say. To know that their father is a pervert who’s spent the past five years openly chasing the skirt of a woman twenty years his junior and so far out of his league it’s a wonder he hasn’t realised how much of a laughing stock he’s made himself with his attempts.” Draco shook his head mournfully. “I can only imagine the shame it would bring them.”

Stevenson, who was looking decidedly green around the gills, glared hatefully at Malfoy. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” said Draco, his eyebrows raised meaningfully. “Oh, I think you know I _would_ dare. And believe me; I will do it if I ever hear of you being within ten feet of Hermione Granger ever again.”

“What’s it to you if I’m after Granger? Fancy her for yourself, do you?” Stevenson sneered at Draco, his face an entertaining colour of purple.

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” replied Draco coldly. “But Granger works for me now.”

“And what’s that got to do with anything?” Stevenson spat at him. “Our personal life has nothing to do with you.” Draco laughed scathingly.

“Do you actually hear yourself when you talk? You _have no_ personal life with Granger. She doesn’t want anything to do with you. She practically begged me for a transfer to _get away_ from you. She can’t stand you – you disgust her,” said Draco nastily, and he smiled blandly into the furious face of Richard Stevenson.

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not. Now, I’m going to explain something to you Stevenson, so I want you to listen very carefully: In the two and a half years since I was made head of this department, I have created one of the most efficient work forces the Ministry has ever seen. In order to maintain that efficiency, my team works phenomenally hard, in return for which I work phenomenally hard to keep them happy. Part of keeping them happy involves providing them with a working environment which is safe, comfortable and relaxed. As it is, you make Granger feel none of those things, and as she is now a part of my extremely efficient work force, it’s very much my responsibility to provide her with the same working environment that the rest of my staff benefits from. So, I’m going to have to ask you to leave her alone.”

Draco had given this small speech in a calm and measured voice, his eyes boring into Stevenson’s and holding the shorter man rapt with trepidation, but by the time he had finished speaking he had pulled his wand from his trouser pocket and was idly twirling it between his fingers.

“Look here, Malfoy. Your name might mean you have half the Ministry under your thumb, but I’m not going to be told what to do by a jumped up little-“

“Yes, you are. The last time I checked, I was a Head of Department and you were little more than a glorified shift leader. We might work in different departments, Stevenson, but I still out-rank you. _By a significant amount_. So if I tell you to jump, don’t even stop to ask how high, you just jump as high as your little, old legs will allow you to.”

Stevenson’s face contorted in rage and his mouth opened as though to speak, but whatever he had planned on saying died on his lips as he suddenly felt the tip of Draco’s wand pressing into the underside of his jaw.

“I’m not going to tell you again: stay away from Hermione Granger , or your family finding out about you gratuitous behaviour is going to be the least of your problems,” Draco whispered dangerously.

“Are you threatening me?”

“Yes, I am - did I not make that clear enough?”

For a tense moment Stevenson glared at Malfoy with an expression of barely controlled violence, and then he turned away sharply and stormed down the corridor towards the elevators.

Draco watched him out of slight before relaxing his grip on his wand – Granger hadn’t been kidding when she said he was unhinged. He was going to have to keep an eye on him.

With a final glance towards the elevators, Draco turned towards the door to his left and opened it. He stepped into a large board room, around the table of which his team of eight workers were sat watching him expectantly.

“What happened out there?” Blaise asked as soon as Draco had closed the door. “Was that Stevenson I heard you talking to?”

“Yes.” Draco turned away from a wide-eyed Blaise and faced the rest of his team. “Who knows who Richard Stevenson is? Yes, from AMR. Good. We’re setting up a Network – I want to know where that man is at all times.”

By the time that Draco made it back to his office, well over an hour had passed and Granger had already made a significant dent in the book he had given her.

“I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me,” said Granger coldly as she looked up from the book.

“Don’t start, Granger. It’s not even ten thirty and the day’s already gone to shit. I don’t need your attitude as well.

“What’s the matter? Is Malfoy not getting what he wants for a change?” said Granger provokingly.

“I said don’t start, Granger,” said Draco warningly.

“Or what?” she said harshly, laughing at him.

“Look here, you bushy haired little bint,” snapped Draco, turning a furious glare on her which had her leaning back in her chair. “I don’t want to work with you any more than you want to work with me. I had every intention of trying to do the adult thing here and attempting to maintain a civil working relationship, but if you’d rather go on making things hard for each other, I’d just like to take a moment to remind you of the fact that I am now your _boss_.”

“Don’t you dare threaten me!” shrieked Granger who had sprung out of her seat and was pointing a shaking finger at him.

“I wasn’t threatening you; I was simply reminding you that I am now in a position to make your life a lot harder than you can make mine.”

“How dare you!” shouted Granger. “How dare you! I don’t have to stand here and take this.”

“No, you don’t,” roared Draco, whose thinly reigned temper had finally snapped and who suddenly couldn’t imagine anything worse than spending the next eighteen months working with Hermione Granger. “You can leave any time you want to, Granger. Feel free to go back upstairs to AMR and Stevenson feeling you up all day.”

“You can’t keep threatening me with Stevenson!”

“Yes I can,” growled Draco, who took a step forward to glower down at her. “Especially given what I’ve just seen.”

“What have you just seen?” said Granger sharply.

“I just found Stevenson hanging around the boardrooms round the corner, looking for you.”

“You ... what?”

“Stevenson. Two corridors away. Looking for you.” A spasm of fear flickered across Granger’s face and Draco felt his anger all but disappear in the face of an unexpected stab of alarm at the sight of the clearly shaken woman standing in front of him. There was evidently a lot more to this situation with Stevenson than she had been letting on.

“He was down here?” she asked faintly, suddenly looking pale. “How did he get in?”

Draco reached out to grab her shoulders and steady her as she started to sway, and he handled her back into the seat she had just vacated.

“Jesus, Granger, you look like you’re about to pass out.” Granger made an indistinct noise in response but said nothing as she had just placed her head between her knees and was taking big gulping breaths. Draco quickly grabbed the decanter of Fire Whiskey from his desk and poured a healthy measure into one of the crystal tumblers that stood beside it, and then pressed the glass into Granger’s hand.

“Here, drink this.” He watched wearily as Granger sat back, raised the glass to her lips and drained it. There was a soft rattling as she placed the tumbler on the edge of his desk with a shaking hand.

“I don’t know how he got in,” said Draco finally, and an unfamiliar emotion churned his stomach as she turned uncharacteristically vulnerable eyes on him. The urge to re-assure her suddenly flared up in him and he shifted awkwardly on his feet.

“Listen, Granger, don’t worry yourself about Stevenson, he can’t get to you down here,” he said haltingly and Granger snorted disbelievingly.

“You don’t know Stevenson,” she said bitterly, and Draco once again wondered exactly what the man had done.

“Nor do I particularly want to,” scoffed Draco. “But I’m going to need you to trust me when I say that he won’t be bothering you again.”

“What did you do to him?” said Granger eyeing him suspiciously, and Draco gave her a rueful smile as he made his way around his desk to sit down.

“I haven’t done anything to him,” said Draco honestly. “I just had a little chat with him when I saw him earlier.”

“Threats don’t really work on Stevenson. He tends to take them as a personal challenge,” said Granger sounding quite alarmed.

“He can take it however he wants, the man isn’t going to get within hexing distance of you.”

“What _have_ you done?” said Granger curiously.

“Let’s just say the bloke won’t be able to pick his nose without my knowing about it.” Granger’s eyebrows shot up and Draco tried to smile reassuringly at her, although he suspected it looked more like a grimace.

“Not that I don’t appreciate it, or anything, because I do, but ... why have you suddenly taken such an interest in sorting out my problems with Stevenson? It wasn’t that long ago that you would have thought it hilarious to egg him on.” Draco scowled.

“Not that long ago you weren’t my employee.”

“And that changes things?”

“That changes _everything_. Look at this, Granger,” said Draco impatiently, gesturing towards the framed certificates that adorned his office walls. “Commendations from everyone from the Supreme Mugwump to the Minister for Magic. I run a good team, and my team do good work. They do good work because they’re dedicated, hard working and focused. They are dedicated, hard working and focused because I look after them, and I look after them because they do good work. It’s called symbiosis,” he explained condescendingly. “Now that you’re coming onto the team, I need to maintain that balance. I don’t doubt that you’re going to be dedicated and hard working; I don’t think you have it in you not to be. But focused? I don’t see how you can be with the problem of Stevenson the Psychotic hanging over your head.”

A small thrill of gratification thrummed through Draco as a humorous smile washed over Hermione’s features and he couldn’t prevent the answering smile that touched the corners of his mouth. “So if I remove the problem, you can focus on being hard working and dedicated, and I can carry on spending shocking amounts of money on frames for all of these commendations they keep throwing at me.”

“So that’s how this works? We do all the hard work and you take the praise?” Hermione asked, but her tone was teasing and the smile she wore was relaxed.

“That’s exactly how this works, and the more praise you earn me, the more comfortable I make life for you. I find it’s been a wonderful arrangement so far,” replied Draco in the same teasing tone as she had used.

There was a moments silence as they eyed each other speculatively. At twenty six years old it had been a long time since there had been any real malice between them, but the extent of the damage done at school was too much for them to have come out at the other end with any ability to even tolerate each other. Despite the fact that they had spent a fair amount of time working together when she had been in AMR, it had always been filled with intense bickering and what appeared to be an intrinsic need to out-do each other. Draco had come to accept the fact that they just weren’t meant to get along. But now, necessity dictated otherwise...

“So how does this work?” Granger’s voice interrupted his thoughts and his vision refocused on her face.

“Specifically?”

“A civil working relationship,” said Granger seeming to swill the words around her mouth, tasting them in much the same way she would have tasted wine. “What does that entail?”

“It means I’ll be respectful towards you, if you’re respectful towards me.”

“And you’re comfortable with that scenario?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well ... I’m muggleborn.”

“I am aware of this.” Granger laughed derisively.

“Give over, Malfoy. You spent most of our school years trying to preach pureblood superiority to anyone who would listen. You can’t honestly tell me that you’re not appalled at the thought of having any form of working relationship with a muggleborn, never mind a civil one.”

“I’m not appalled,” said Draco simply.

“I’m being serious, Malfoy.”

“So am I,” he said mildly. “After eight years of attempting to unravel the mysteries of the universe with varying degrees of success, one thing I can honestly say I’ll take away from it all is the discovery that blood, regardless of who it comes from, is just blood, and that the only way it can really be categorised or segmented is medically. So no, I honestly couldn’t care less if you’re muggleborn or otherwise. Just work hard and I’ll see you right.”

“And I’m just expected to believe that?” Draco sighed irritably.

“Believe it, or not, I honestly couldn’t care less.”

“But – “

“But what?”

“You’re going to have bear with me on this one Malfoy, because right about now it seems like the world’s starting to tilt on end. If what you’ve just said is true, then why is this the first time I’m hearing anything about it? Correct me if I’m wrong, but blood purity used to be a pretty big thing for you and your family, and none of you were exactly modest with your opinions. A complete re-haul of your beliefs? A complete re-haul of a _Malfoy’s_ beliefs, at that! People would have been talking about it.”

“And what makes you think it’s something I would have been openly bandying about? Do I strike you as the type of person who can easily admit they were wrong?”

“You’ve just done so to me.”

“Yes, well, sacrifices must be made for the sake of establishing civil working relationships, and you can stop looking at me like that. I’m not going to _apologise_.”

“It’s the decent thing to do.”

“And here I thought ridding you of an unwanted, psychoneurotic stalker was a decent thing to do.”

“You’re only doing it because it benefits you.”

“Symbiosis, Granger.”

“Call it what you want, but-“

“Zabini, thank the Gods! Take Granger off my hands, will you? Show her about, introduce her to people, but for the sake of my sanity, get her out of my office.” Granger glared at him.

“Don’t think for one second that this conversation is over, Malfoy. You don’t get to just drop something like that on me after years of torment at _your_ hands and get away Scot free.”

“You mean you’re not going to let something drop?” asked Draco in false astonishment and then sneered at her. “Go! Merlin, Blaise, just take her. I’ve got a couple of Floo calls to make; I’ll catch up with you when I’m finished.”

As Draco sat back in his chair and watched the pair walking away from his office, he suddenly felt drained and wondered grimly if having Granger on the team was really worth the effort.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione couldn't help the little laugh of unbridled joy that escaped her as she stepped into what Blaise had called ‘his office.’

“This,” said Blaise Zabini, spreading his arms expansively, “is what we call the Space room.”

And Hermione could fully understand why.

As far as she could see, for all intents and purposes, she had opened a door on the Ministry of Magic’s ninth floor and had stepped into outer space. Hermione gazed in wonder around her as for miles and miles in every single direction all she could see were stars and planets.

“Merlin!” Hermione breathed as she spun around and around, unable to take in everything that surrounded her, but trying her hardest to do so anyway.

“How is this possible?” she asked Blaise, who at one point in her spinning she had seen was watching her with an expression of mild amusement.

“Err...” said Blaise, reaching up to scratch at his head in an oddly self-conscious gesture. “As far as we can tell, it’s a replicating charm of some sort that’s been projected onto a magically expanded room.”

“What’s it replicating? Fragments of sky?”

“Well ... no. The universe.”

“ _WHAT_?” Hermione exclaimed, spinning once again to face him from where she had been gazing off into the distance. “Are you joking?” she asked suspiciously.

“No,” he said innocently.

“But that’s impossible.”

“I know,” he smirked.

“No, I mean, Zabini, it’s physically impossible to store a replica of the universe within the earth, never mind ten miles below London. It defies the laws of nature.”

“I’m aware of this fact, Granger.”

“So how does it work?”

“Time-Lord technology? Your guess is as good as ours – this room is one of the mysteries we haven’t figured out yet.”

“Time-Lord tech-“ Hermione sputtered, but cut herself off as she caught sight of someone coming towards them over Blaise’s shoulder. He appeared to be a middle aged man, who was scowling heavily at them. Seeing her distracted look, Blaise glanced backwards and chuckled quietly.

“Ah, here comes Croaker.”

As the man who Blaise had called Croaker neared them, Blaise turned to face him and gave him a friendly nod. The man’s head jerked sharply forward in return, in what Hermione could only assume had been a nod as well. “Croaker, this is Hermione Granger.”

Croaker, who was already scowling down at Hermione, merely gave another sharp jerk of his head and said “Mmmph.”

“Hermione has just joined the team. Today is her first day.”

“Mmmph,” and without further ado, he turned away from them and walked past Hermione and into the distance.

“Err ...”

“Yeah, Croaker’s what you would call Laconic,” said Blaise. “But honestly, that was almost friendly for him.”

“Can he actually talk?”

“You know, I don’t really know,” said Blaise rubbing his chin. “I don’t really interact with him that much, and that’s the most noise I’ve heard him make all year. Suppose that’s because I only really see him once a month. Technically he’s my supervisor, but well...”

“So is that why you call him Croaker? Because he doesn’t talk and just croaks at people?”

“No,” said Blaise giving her a funny look. “We call him Croaker because that’s his name.”

Hermione, unsure of how to reply to this, decided to take another look around her.

“So where in the universe are we then?”

“No idea,” said Blaise succinctly.

“You have no idea where we are?”

“Nope, the door just sort of spits you out wherever it wants to.”

“None of this makes any sense. None of this should even be possible!”

“Yeah, that’s why we work for the Department of Mysteries; it’s sort of the point.”

Hermione gave Blaise a dark look.

The next room that Blaise took her to was what he called the ‘Think Tank’, but what everyone else called the Thought room. Inside were two men whom Hermione found mildly discomfiting, but very friendly regardless, and a room whose walls and shelves were crowded with tanks full of brains. The sight sent a shiver down her spine and she briefly thought of the faded scars which still covered Ron’s arms before pushing the image aside.

Blaise seemed reluctant to enter the room and instead hung back nervously in the doorway as Hermione edged cautiously inside whilst being talked at by the two men she had now discovered were called Russels and Hobbs. It was here that Malfoy caught up with them.

“How’s it going?” she heard him mutter to Blaise who gave him an incomprehensible reply.

“Here! Boss,” called the man named Hobbs as Malfoy stepped past Blaise and into the room.

“Hobbs,” said Malfoy amicably nodding at the two men. “Showing Granger the ropes?”

“Oh sure,” said Hobbs giving Malfoy a gap toothed smile. “We were just telling her all about the project on extracting thoughts the same way we can with memories.”

Hermione, who had been too distracted by the gruesome occupants of the tanks around her to pay attention to what Russells and Hobbs had been saying, tried to look like this revelation wasn’t news to her when Malfoy gave her an appraising look.

“Say, why don’t we take a look inside that head of hers and see what’s going on?” said Russells, picking up a painful looking instrument from the work bench in front of him and winking conspiratorially at Malfoy. Hermione felt a brief moment of panic.

“No need, lads,” sniggered Malfoy. “I went to school with her; I can already tell you she’s a certified lunatic.”

Hermione’s indignation flared immediately, but her anger came to a grinding halt as the realisation hit her that Malfoy was joking. Draco Malfoy was smiling and laughing and _joking_ with his workers. So complete was her shock, you could have knocked her over with a feather.

“It takes one to know one.” She heard herself say and she felt herself grin as Hobbs and Russells fell about laughing. Oh, this was completely surreal.

“Ah, she’s going to fit in just fine,” said Hobbs, gaining control of himself and wiping his eyes behind his beer bottle glasses. Malfoy shot Hermione an amused glance.

“I have no doubt,” said Malfoy. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have to show her the other three rooms before lunch.”

Back out in the corridor, Blaise turned to Malfoy with a questioning look which Malfoy clearly understood because he said meaningfully “I can think of a room she’d _love_ to see” and then set off down the corridor with Blaise chuckling and Hermione trailing apprehensively behind them.

When they reached their destination, it was to find a man standing in front of a door who reminded her vaguely of Lockhart. The man didn’t speak a word to them and neither did Malfoy or Blaise speak to him.

Hermione watched in confused fascination as the strange man pulled from his pocket something that looked remarkably like two muggle love-heart sweets, and handed them to Malfoy. One he popped into his pocket, and the other he popped into his mouth. Malfoy waved dismissively to the other two men, who fell back a little way down the corridor, and then he pulled open the door in front of him.

Turning to Hermione, he motioned her into the room beyond with a mysterious grin. A feeling of foreboding settled into Hermione’s chest at the sight of that smile and she stepped through the doorway with Blaise’s soft sniggers following her in.

Once inside, Hermione gave the room a quick glance over before spinning back towards the door at the sound of it closing, to find Malfoy leaning with his back against it, his hands shoved into the pockets of his grey dress trousers and watching her carefully from beneath his lashes.

Hermione turned away from him. The look he was giving her was making her feel uncomfortable. In fact, this room was making her feel uncomfortable, unremarkable though it was. It was a decent sized room which appeared to be nothing more than a regular office with several desks and an abundance of bookshelves. The only thing that really stood out was the fact that it had been done out in horribly lurid shades of pink, red and purple.

Well, she said lurid. They weren’t that bad.

In fact, now that she thought about it and now that she’d had a good look, the colours were actually quite lovely. This room was quite lovely. Hermione _felt_ quite lovely. Why had she been worried about coming in here? This place was wonderful!

She turned back to Malfoy with a dreamy smile playing around her lips and intending to tell him just how much she liked this room when she stopped dead. Malfoy was lovely. By Jove, was he lovely.

Actually, Malfoy was _gorgeous_. Why hadn’t she realised how incredibly good looking he was before now? She released a shaky breath and watched in fascination as Malfoy’s eyebrows rose and a lazy smirk spread across his lips, all of which was done in a most attractive manner. She wondered if he’d let her kiss him?

“All right there, Granger?” he asked, his voice like chocolate.

“Yes,” she said and then immediately changed her mind. “No – has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?”

She watched with rapt adoration as he threw his head back and gave off what had to be the sexiest laugh she had ever heard in her life. She cocked her head to the side and watched, smiling, as he dropped his own head back down and a strand of his beautiful hair fell into his beautiful eyes.

“I can’t say they have,” he told her and Hermione’s stomach filled with butterflies at the sound of his voice.

Why hadn’t she realised before now how utterly and completely she was in love with this man? She had to tell him. He had to know how she felt for him!

She opened her mouth to do just that when suddenly one of his hands emerged from a trouser pocket and extended towards her, palm up. In the centre of his hand rested a small pink disc.

“Have a sweet, Granger.”

“What?”

What? A sweet? Why was he offering her a sweet? Didn’t he understand what was going on? The gravity of the situation? She had just realised she was in love with him, didn’t he know this? Why hadn’t he swept her off her feet yet, and declared his own undying love?

She sauntered towards him on wobbly legs and reached over to push his out-stretched hand away from her before coming to a stop in front of him and placing her hands lightly on his chest.

“Draco,” she said huskily, and she felt a shiver run through his body beneath her fingers. His hand appeared between them, holding the small sherbet in his thumb and fore finger.

“Eat the sweet, Granger,” he said thickly. She glanced up coyly from beneath her lashes, and into his flushed face.

“But I don’t want the sweet, I want you,” she purred at him and Draco snorted softly.

“Trust me; you’ll like the sweet better.”

“But I _love_ you,” she whispered to him ardently.

“So you do,” said Draco dismissively. “Eat the damn sweet, Granger.” And with that he brought the candy to her lips and pressed lightly. Hermione smiled playfully at him before flicking her tongue out to take it from his fingers.

As soon as Hermione’s lips had closed over the sweet, she reeled away from Malfoy, stumbling backwards as though he had physically struck her and barely stopping herself from falling over her own feet.

As she came to a halt the realisation of what she had said done over the last ten minutes struck her full force and she felt her skin burn with humiliation.

“ _What in Merlin’s name was that_?” she snarled at Malfoy, who she was most certainly _NOT_ in love with. He simply smirked unaffectedly at her and straightened up from where he had been leaning against the door.

“That,” he said, lifting an arm and gesturing around them, “was the Love room.”

“The _what_ room?”

“Come back outside, I’ll explain everything out there.”

Hermione was only too happy to comply. She stumbled from the room to find herself facing a grinning Blaise.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

“Great,” answered Malfoy from behind her. “We’ll be announcing out engagement any day now.” Hermione shot a glare over her shoulder as Blaise doubled up in laughter.

“I don’t know what he’s laughing at,” said the man whose name she still didn’t know. “He discovered latent homosexual feelings for our last Head of Department the first time he went in there. How long?” he directed the question towards Malfoy.

“About two minutes,” was the brief answer.

Hermione blinked stupidly and stared uncomprehendingly into the faces of the three men surrounding her. “What was two minutes?” She asked.

“That’s how long it took to affect you – not a bad time actually,” replied Malfoy who was smirking at her again.

“And what exactly is ‘it’?” Hermione asked through gritted teeth, her cheeks burning again.

“Don’t growl at me because you’re embarrassed, we all had to go through it,” said Malfoy, not bothering to try and hide how much he was enjoying himself. Hermione was struck by the sudden urge to lash out at her new boss, but instead turned towards their unnamed companion and raised expectant brows at him.

“I’m Atkinson,” he said kindly stepping forward to shake her hand, “but you can call me Eros, everyone else does.” Hermione smiled weakly at him. “As for the room, well, we’re not sure what it is or how it works, but we do know that it replicates the feeling of being in love.”

“But you don’t know what or how?”

“No.”

“I seem to be hearing that a lot, lately.”

“I’ve already told you, Granger,” said Malfoy exasperatedly, “this is the Department of Mysteries, it’s the whole-“

“- Point,” Hermione cut him off, muttering. “Yeah, I get it.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “What was the sweet Malfoy gave me to stop it?”

“Oh,” said Eros, digging in his pocket. “Just sweets. It’s the only thing we’ve found that blocks the effects. It’s just a muggle sweet.” He pressed a yellow disc into her hand and Hermione looked down at the Love Heart proclaiming her to be gorgeous. She felt a flush of heat run up her neck and quickly handed it back to Eros who cheerfully popped it into his mouth.

“So does the room do anything else other than replicate love?” Hermione asked, desperate for a distraction from her humiliated thoughts.

“Oh yeah,” said Eros nodding enthusiastically, “I mean, the room can force you to believe that you’re _in love_ , but it can’t force you to feel physical attraction or sexual desire. It _can_ enhance and embellish those feelings if they already exist though,” he told her, waggling his eyebrows in an exaggeratedly lewd manner. Hermione’s blood ran cold.

“You don’t say?” came Malfoy’s amused drawl from her left, and Hermione closed her eyes to focus on controlling her breathing whilst a new surge of humiliation washed through her.

“Yes,” said Eros and Hermione could hear the frown in his voice.

“So you’re telling me, that in order for someone to be overcome with ... err ... sexual desire or their physical attraction to someone whilst in that room, that those feelings need to be _pre-existing_?”

“Yes ... Malfoy, you already know this.”

“So I do,” and the way in which Malfoy said those three words had goose bumps blossoming into life across Hermione’s skin. Keeping her eyes closed, she listened to his slow footsteps. “Come along, Granger, still a couple more rooms to go.”

Hermione took several calming breaths and then froze as she felt warm breath ghost across her neck and hair tickling her cheek.

“Oh,” Malfoy murmured into her ear, “and try to keep you _pre-existing_ desire in check; I’ve no problems with filing sexual harassment complaints.”

Hermione Granger wanted to die.


	3. Flight Not Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, then. I hope you enjoy it!

** Chapter Three – Flight Not Fight. **

 

By the time that Friday rolled around, Hermione could honestly say that she had never been so happy to see a weekend since the disastrous Tickle Me Elmo fiasco back in 2002. This had been another situation where Hermione had been proven right, _again_. You see, the problem with leaving Muggle-born children to ‘come into their own’ is that, more often than not, it created a lot of very unnecessary work for the Ministry, and in particular the Accidental Magic Reversal squad. But would anyone listen to reason?

On this particular occasion, it had been close to Christmas and emotions had been running high. A harassed single mother had been running around Newcastle’s Metro Shopping Centre in a whirlwind of last minute gift shopping when her three year old son who, unknown to the mother, was a wizard had gotten his eye on a Tickle Me Elmo doll. A brief, fierce battle had ensued between the mother and son followed by an explosive tantrum when the mother had tried to forcibly move the boy away from the shop. The blast of magic which had resulted from the tantrum had been so powerful that it had turned everyone within a twenty five foot radius into a Tickle Me Elmo doll, including the mother.

Hermione had arrived at the scene to find a crowd of bemused shoppers encircling an angelic looking little boy who was sat playing with his new army of Tickle Me Elmos. It had taken the AMR and a team of Obliviators nine days, working around the clock, to sort that mess out. And even to this day, random people walking in front of the toyshop have been known to suddenly sprout red fur or burst into extreme fits of giggles.

It had been the hardest week of Hermione’s professional life so far, but this week was definitely calling in at a close second. Why? Because Draco Malfoy was a slave driver.

In his apparent desperation to get her trained up in the basics and start her apprenticeship in one of the rooms, he’d had her working flat out every day from nine in the morning until finishing time at five thirty. Not that Hermione minded overly much; the Department of Mysteries was an incredibly fascinating place to work and Hermione was vastly impressed with some of the mysteries the team had already puzzled out. But she was exhausted.

Malfoy, slave driver that he was, was also knowledgeable in all aspects of the department, patient and surprisingly encomiastic. This also exhausted Hermione, who, in her embarrassment from the Love Room incident was still unreasonably furious with Malfoy, was trying her hardest to remain steadfastly cold and formal with her new boss. This, however, was not going to plan and despite her best efforts, Malfoy’s passionate enthusiasm for his job, obvious intelligence and sharp wit had given rise to an awed, sort-of-grudging respect in Hermione.

Malfoy, to his credit, hadn’t mentioned the Love Room incident again, but there had been occasions when he had caught her studying him and he would raise a knowing eyebrow at her all the while smirking in that conceited way of his that always made her palms itch for contact with his cheek. Hermione, for her part, could not figure out what had happened in that room, because she was most certainly _not_ attracted to Malfoy. Oh, she wasn’t blind; she knew he was good-looking, and she wasn’t going to deny that she understood why women would be, and undoubtedly were, attracted to him. But _she_ was _not_ , so why had the room forced her to react so strongly? Still, Eros had said it would exaggerate things. So, if you took all things into consideration, she supposed it all made a bit of sense; she did admit that he was attractive, and of course it had been her first day, she had been out of sorts and nervous and unsure of Malfoy himself as a boss … well, yes, she supposed you could expect something like that to happen. Still …

“Granger?”

“Hmmm?” Hermione looked up distractedly from the roll of parchment in front of her which was covered in equations and magical algorithms. Malfoy had given them to her to memorise and they were, allegedly, the ‘bread and butter’ of an Unspeakable’s job.

“How’s it going?” he asked, nodding at the parchment.

“Oh!” said Hermione sitting up straighter. “Good, yeah. I think I’ve managed to memorise them – I was just testing myself.”

“Nice,” said Malfoy appreciatively and a small flicker of pride alighted in Hermione’s chest. He really wasn’t that bad when it came down to it. He was actually a very good boss and it certainly seemed like he had grown up.

“Would you like to go to lunch?” Hermione paused then blinked. Her heart began hammering in her chest.

“Excuse me?” Malfoy frowned patronisingly at her.

“Your one week catch-up?” he said slowly in a tone that immediately raised Hermione’s hackles.

“Yes, what about it?” she snapped. Malfoy sighed impatiently.

“I told you on Monday that we’d go for lunch today and have a chat about how your first week went.” Hermione felt her cheeks heat up as the memory came to her. “Honestly Granger, what did you think I meant?” But from the amused tone of his voice and the cock of his eyebrow, Hermione knew exactly what _he_ was thinking. She gave him a flat look.

His smirk widening, Malfoy stood up and pulled his suit jacket from the back of his chair. “Come on, we’ve got reservations at one.”

Hermione followed Malfoy dejectedly out the door. Maybe she had spoken to soon.

As it was, they weren’t to be dining alone. As they arrived in front of the restaurant, Hermione spotted the elegant figure of Blaise Zabini already seated at a table and waving lazily at Draco through the window.

“Why is Zabini here?” she asked as they moved towards the door.

“Because I’m killing multiple birds with one stone.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that I normally have lunch with Zabini on a Friday to get a room update. Seeing as his is the only room that you haven’t spent more than half an hour in this week, I thought it would give you a chance to get a better understanding of what exactly they do. This way, you learn and I get my update. Also, we can have our chat about how you’re getting on, Zabini can mediate and try to prevent any bloodshed, and he gets to interact with someone who isn’t me, Pansy, his mother or Croaker.”

Hermione was saved having to respond to this by their arrival at the table. Blaise had stood to greet them and nodded amicably at Hermione before throwing Malfoy a dirty look, who was smirking sardonically at him.

“Merlin, Zabini, I didn’t know you had manners,” commented Malfoy in false astonishment as he quirked an eyebrow over Zabini’s still standing form. Hermione couldn’t help the snort of amusement that left her as she settled into the seat that the Maître d had pulled out for her. Malfoy was surprisingly witty, she’d give him that. Blaise’s lips thinned in disapproval.

“I’m surprised you know enough about manners to recognise them,” he shot at Malfoy whose smirk widened into a grin. Hermione picked up her menu from beside her elbow and felt herself relax; eased by Malfoy and Zabini’s easy banter.

Lunch, it transpired, was an intriguing affair.  Zabini’s report had been detailed, informative and had given her a much broader understanding of what exactly him and Croaker did, which apparently included anything from Muggle Astrochemistry to the mapping of the universe for use in divination as opposed to just the observable galaxy.

Zabini spoke with a fluidity and ready intelligence that made him a pleasure to listen to, and was surprisingly patient throughout Hermione’s many interruptions and questions, even stopping to explain a lot of things to her of his own volition. If not quite as passionate as Malfoy, he was certainly enthusiastic about what he did.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the keenness,” Malfoy’s drawl interrupted them mid-conversation, “but we’ll need to wrap up soon. We’re due back in half an hour.” Malfoy gave Hermione a meaningful look and with an embarrassed cough, Blaise quietly excused himself and all but ran off to the bathroom. So much for mediating. Malfoy levelled an unreadable gaze onto Hermione and she swallowed thickly.

“So, how do you think you’re doing then?” Hermione was taken aback.

“Err … aren’t _you_ supposed to be answering that question?” Malfoy shrugged.

“I’d like to hear what you think first.”

“Honestly?” Malfoy nodded encouragingly. “All right. Well, it’s the most mentally challenging job I’ve ever come across, and given that I’ve come to that conclusion at the end of my first week it makes me feel slightly daunted.” Hermione shrugged at Malfoy’s mildly shocked expression. “Everyone’s been really friendly and helpful, and I can’t deny the fact that it’s all been terribly fascinating. But, as I said, I can’t remember the last time was as intellectually challenged as I have been this week –or mentally exhausted. So honestly, I have no idea how I think I’m doing.”

Malfoy studied her carefully for a moment before nodding at her, his fingers absently toying with his discarded napkin.

“That was very honest of you,” he said mildly, a strange smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Are you enjoying being in the department?”

“Immensely.”

“Do you have any complaints?”

“Surprisingly, not a one,” said Hermione, smiling in a self-deprecating manner.

“Good,” said Malfoy nodding slowly at her. “Good. Well, on my part, I’m happy with the progress you’re making – and you seem to be getting along well with everyone. At this rate we might be able to get you through your apprenticeship early, and get you up to Scotland before Christmas as part of the prep team.”

“Really?” said Hermione excitedly, sitting forward in her seat.

“Mhmm,” hummed Malfoy eyeing her in amusement. “But before you can gain an apprenticeship, we need to get you into one of the rooms.”

“Where were you thinking about putting me?”

“Me? That’s your decision to make.”

“I get to choose?” asked Hermione incredulously. Malfoy merely nodded and she sat back in her chair, shocked.

She had never considered the fact that Malfoy would give her a choice seeing as this was only meant to be a secondment. She had assumed he would place her where he most needed her. She knew where she _wanted_ to go, of course, but she hadn’t thought she’d have the opportunity to tell him. Now that she did, well, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to …

“You _have_ made a decision, haven’t you?” said Malfoy doubtfully.

“Oh! Yes, I have.”

“Well?” Hermione cleared her throat uncomfortably.

“Ideally, I think I’d like to go into the Love room.”

Malfoy’s entire body stilled and his face went carefully blank, although the light spread of pink that flushed up his neck and across his cheeks assured Hermione that he wasn’t as un-embarrassed about their incident as he had lead her to believe.

“Why?” asked Malfoy evenly after a moment.

“Well …” said Hermione slowly, dropping her eyes to where her hands were firmly gripping the coffee cup on the table in front of her. She wasn’t sure how much Malfoy was going to like her interest in the Love room being a personal one.

“Well what?” A quick glance at Malfoy showed the same carefully blank expression, but the intensity of his gaze had her heart speeding up.

“How much do you know about what happened between Voldemort and Harry?” Whatever Malfoy had been expecting, this was not it.

“Err … only what I heard from my Father or read in the papers, why?” Her answered, clearly confused.

“Well, it’s a bit of a long story, but … well-“ Hermione stalled. “What do you know about Love and its ability to offer physical protection?”

“What has that got to do with Potter and the Dark Lord?”

“Everything.”

“All right … Well, we don’t know as much as we would like to, mostly due to the fact that you can’t physicalize love, and we’ve never had anyone who has benefited from that kind of protection in order to – hang on, are you saying that Potter has a love protection charm on him?” Malfoy asked incredulously and Hermione nodded excitedly, their awkwardness from moments before completely forgotten.

“Merlin! That explains a lot.”

“I’ve got loads of ideas – and I know Harry would be willing to give us a couple of blood samples.”

“Blood samples?”

“Yes, that’s how the charm works, that’s how it holds. And then there was a potion that needed Harry’s blood, but that …” A strange expression stole over Malfoy’s pale features as he watched her talk.

“Blood …”

“Yes … Malfoy, are you ok?” Malfoy nodded distractedly and then cleared his throat.

“Yes, I’m fine. Come on, we need to be getting back.” With that, Malfoy signalled the waiter for the bill, putting an abrupt and confusing end to the conversation, but Malfoy was resolutely avoiding her questioning glances and Hermione turned away with a sigh. It was then that Hermione realised that Zabini had never returned from his trip to the bathroom.

“He’s over at the bar,” said Malfoy when she had voiced her concern. “I think he’s talking to some old friends.”

Zabini was indeed at the bar, but whatever his companion was saying clearly held no interest to him as he was gazing past them and staring at Hermione and Malfoy, a knowing smirk shaping his lips which made Hermione feel distinctly uncomfortable.

By the time Hermione made it to The Wonky Wand that night, her mouth was practically watering at the prospect of the night’s first – much needed – alcoholic beverage.

“Merlin, Mione!” came Ron’s not-entirely-sober shout as she stepped out of the fire place and into the bar. “What the hell kind of time do you call this?” Hermione glanced at her watch.

“Seven thirty.”

“Yeah! You finished work two hours ago,” said Ron accusingly. From behind him a perfectly manicured, pale hand crept up over his shoulder and gripped it. The hand’s owner quickly followed into view, and Hermione noticed that, as always, Pansy Parkinson – soon to be Pansy Weasley – looked immaculate.

“Granger is a big girl, my love. She can look after herself,“ drawled Pansy, who extended her free hand towards Hermione. “Granger, come, have a drink, tell me about your week.” Hermione halted mid step as she caught sight of the predatory gleam in Pansy’s dark eyes.

“You can interrogate her later,” said the voice of Harry Potter from behind Hermione as his hand appeared in front of her holding a tumbler which contained a large quantity of amber liquid. Hermione sighed in delight as she accepted a kiss on the cheek from the voice’s owner and took the glass from his hand. Pansy pouted exaggeratedly as she leaned back into Ron’s arms, but her predatory gaze never left Hermione, who hurriedly turned away.

“Err, why is Pansy so desperate to talk to me?” she asked, lifting the glass of whiskey to her lips.

“She seems to think something happened between you and Malfoy this week,” said Harry whose eyebrows rose as Hermione felt herself colour. “ _Did_ something happen?”

“No!” Harry stared at her. “Look, it was nothing. Just a little misunderstanding, that’s all. It was _nothing_!” Okay, so perhaps that had been a bit over-zealous of her. Harry simply shrugged and steered her towards the table where Ginny was sat nursing a Gillywater.

“Well, whatever is was,” said Harry. “Apparently it’s had Malfoy acting funny all week.”

“Funny?” Hermione asked as she slid into a chair beside Ginny.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “What was it Pansy said earlier?”

“She said he turns into a right awkward sod whenever someone mentions you,” supplied Ginny.

“That was it,” said Harry. “Pansy said that he gets a bit shirty and tries to change the subject every time she or Zabini bring you up.”

“Yes, and Pansy wants to know _why_?” said Pansy as she and Ron joined them at the table. Given their current state, Hermione was willing to bet that they had come straight to the pub from work at five.

“Why don’t you ask Malfoy?” suggested Hermione.

“I did,” said Pansy who pouted again. “He wouldn’t tell me, and was very rude about it.”

“Well, given that it’s to do with classified information related to work, I’m not surprised he didn’t tell you. And neither will I,” said Hermione smugly and Pansy rolled her eyes.

“Merlin, you sound just like Draco and Blaise,” she said disgustedly.

“Really? Isn’t that strange; it’s almost as if we all work together!”

“You know, Granger, they say that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”

“This explains why it’s the only form of wit you understand.”

“Well excuse you-“

“ _Ladies!_ ” Harry’s voice interrupted them, and a placating hand came to rest on Hermione’s arm. “Can we not just have a quiet night? No arguments, please?”

Neither Hermione nor Pansy answered him, but neither of them spoke again. A tense silence descended on the table.

“So…” said Ron nervously. “Did I tell you that I saw Wood the other day? Yeah, he’s getting married …”

Hermione tuned out the conversation, which Harry and Ginny had latched onto gratefully, and stared pensively down into her firewhiskey.

So he _had_ been bothered about how she had reacted in the Love room. And he was obviously uncomfortable with her reaction; otherwise she was sure he’d have told Pansy and had a good laugh at her over it.

But instead of reassuring her and making her feel better about being bothered herself, it only made her feel worse. Hermione knew herself too well by now to know that the knowledge that Pansy had just imparted was only going to make her feel that much more awkward around him. He clearly thought she fancied him, and she really, really didn’t. Outside of a professional capacity, she couldn’t stand him.

“… Sunday, Granger?”

“Hmmm?” said Hermione dazedly as she raised her eyes from her glass.

“I said,” started Pansy impatiently. “What are you doing on Sunday?”

“Nothing that I can think of, why?”

“We’re having Sunday Lunch at hours,” said Pansy resting her hand affectionately on top of Ron’s. “Why don’t you come along? You haven’t been round in ages.”

“Err … isn’t that usually a couple’s thing?”

“No!” snapped Pansy. “Charlie and Longbottom are going to be there, and a few of my single friends.”

“Yeah, sure, why not?” It had to be better than spending the weekend alone.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, spill.”

Draco looked down at the glass of brandy that was cradled in his hand. “I’d rather not, actually.”

“You’re a funny man,” said Blaise flatly, fixing him with a level stare. “What’s up with you? You’ve been acting strange all week.”

“How so?” said Draco in, what he hoped was, a casual voice.

“Come off it, Draco.”

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Draco uncomfortably. Blaise scoffed.

“You’re seriously going to play dumb? You’ve been a right arsehole since Monday.”

“And this is strange, how?”

“You know what I mean, Draco; you nearly tore Pansy’s head off on Thursday night.” Draco scowled.

“Well she should learn to mind her own business.”

“She was concerned.”

“No she wasn’t, she was looking for gossip.”

“Regardless,” said Blaise waving his hand dismissively. “Something’s up.”

Draco sighed impatiently and rose from his seat, swiping Blaise’s empty glass from the dining table as he passed. “Come on, Draco, you can’t just bottle things up, you have to talk about it.”

“I don’t _have_ to do anything,” said Draco coldly. Blaise gave him a sharp look.

“Whatever you say, Lucius.” Draco stilled and turned to glare over his shoulder at the darker man.

“Don’t push it, Zabini,” he said harshly as he turned back to the drinks he was pouring.

“All right, look, I’m sorry, but you’re really not acting like you. The only person you’ve been remotely civil to this week is Gr…” Blaise trailed off at a dark look from Draco and accepted his refilled glass without another word. The two men sat in strained silence for what felt like a long time.

“Do you know, it’s been nearly two years since I last touched a woman?” said Draco conversationally and Blaise looked up in evident surprise.

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” answered Blaise truthfully. “So, you haven’t since you and …” Draco nodded slowly.

“Since Astoria and I broke up,” clarified Draco.

“Are you still … I mean, do you still have feelings for her?” Draco paused, staring down into his glass and took a sip before answering emphatically.

“No, I don’t.” He drained the rest of his glass. “My feelings for Astoria died a long time before the relationship did.”

“So what’s the problem? Why haven’t you…?” Draco shrugged.

“It’s not like I have a lot of free time with work, and what free time I do have, I’d rather spend in company I enjoy than in bars trawling for a shag.” Blaise smiled fondly at Draco.

“I’m going to include myself amongst “company you enjoy’”

“Naturally,” said Draco saluting the dark man with his empty glass.

“So, that’s what’s been bothering you? The fact that you haven’t been laid in two years?”

“Yes and no.”

“Are you going to elaborate?” Draco didn’t respond immediately.

“I think what’s made it easier is that, barring Pansy and the wives and partners of friends, it’s been a long time since I was last confronted with female company. Before this week, I can’t remember the last time I spoke to a single woman.”

“So this is about Granger?” Draco didn’t reply. “What is it? Do you want to sleep with Granger?”

“No!”

“Okay … so what-?”

“There was a moment, in the Love Room, before she ate the sweet.” Draco dropped his voice to barely above a whisper and stared resolutely down at his empty glass. “She looked at me.”

“She … looked at you?” said Blaise after a brief pause and Draco shot him an annoyed look.

“Yes! She looked at me like she wanted to tear my clothes off and thrown down right there.” Blaise sniggered and the corner of Draco’s mouth curled up in amusement.

“All right,” said Blaise, fighting his amusement. “So Granger got a wide-on for you whilst you were both in the Love room, so what?”

“So, there was a split second when she was looking at me like that where I was tempted to let her have at it.”

“But you said you didn’t-“

“I don’t! What I’m trying to say is that, when she looked at me like that, it could have been anyone, not just Granger, and I’d have been more than happy to let them have their way with me.” Blaise laughed and Draco smiled at him. “I’d forgotten what it was like to be on the receiving end of something like that. I’d forgotten what it was like to have someone look at you and to know that they wanted you.”

“So you’re being a pain in everyone’s arse because you haven’t had any?”

“I don’t know. I suppose that’s the point when it occurred to me just how long it had been, you know? I mean, I’m still human – I’m still a man, I have needs.” Draco shrugged. “And now, whenever I look at Granger all I think about is that look and I’m reminded all over again that those needs haven’t been met in two years and that for those brief few minutes _she_ wanted to fulfil them.”

“Merlin! It must be like being sixteen all over again,” said Blaise with an incredulous laugh.

“It’s definitely not productive,” agreed Draco with a grin.

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m not going to do anything. I’m going to let it run its course and in the meantime I’ll deal with the _problem_ the same way I did when I was sixteen.”

“Way too much information there, mate.”

“You say that like you don’t do it.”

“I, unlike you, have no problems with bar trawling. I’d rather do that than have to take the problem in hand.”

“Tart.”

“You say tart like it’s a bad thing.” Blaise gave Draco an appraising look. “I give you and Granger six months.”

“Six months?”

“Before you shag.” Draco choked on thin air.

“Merlin Zabini, you’re losing the plot.”

“So you don’t think she’s attractive?”

“Where did that come from?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Look, I currently find my left hand attractive, so any opinion I posses on a person’s aesthetic qualities can hardly be considered credible.” Blaise smirked triumphantly.

“So you _do_ find her attractive.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“True, but I suppose it all depends on whether or not you consider her more attractive that your left hand.” Draco laughed.

“I know what you’re doing, Zabini, and I don’t fancy Granger.”

“Fancy?” Blaise’s eyebrows rose. “Who said anything about fancy? I only asked if you thought she was attractive.”

“No one said it, but I know you. Now, I’m going to bed. If I have to deal with Clan Weasley at Sunday Lunch tomorrow, I want a decent night’s sleep. Merlin, I hope Pansy’s stocked up on Firewhiskey, or at least some decent wine.”

“I wonder if Granger will be there.”

“Goodnight, Zabini.”

 

As it turned out Pansy _had_ stocked up on both firewhiskey _and_ good wine.

It also turned out that Granger _was_ there, looking very pretty in a floral dress, the skirt floating elegantly to her knees, which made Draco immensely happy for Pansy’s fine taste in alcohol.

He was also, for the first time in his life, unaccountably glad for Pansy’s propensity to invite ridiculous amounts of people to any meal that she hosted, as today it had given him the perfect opportunity to hide unnoticed down the other side of Pansy’s extensive gardens, away from Granger, her dress and Blaise’s knowing looks.

“What are you doing all the way down here, Draco?” cooed Pansy as she settled herself onto the bench next to him. Draco repressed a sigh of irritation.

“Hiding.”

“I wonder who you could be hiding from.”

“Of course you do,” said Draco scathingly and took a sip of his wine. Pansy ignored him.

“It wouldn’t be Granger now, would it?” Draco tore his eyes away from where he had been watching Longbottom being cornered by Lavender Brown and the Patil twins to turn and smile blandly at Pansy.

“And if I was, how likely do you think it is that I would tell you?” Pansy scowled.

“Christ Draco, I’m half tempted to shag you myself. You’re being a right bastard lately.” Draco sighed. So much for Blaise keeping things to himself.

“Please Pansy; you’ll put me off my food with thoughts like that.”

“Aha! You wish,” she said playfully nudging him with her shoulder and Draco smiled grudgingly at her. “You know, there’s nothing wrong with having the hots for Granger.” Draco felt the heat rise in his face.

“ _I.Do.Not.Fancy.Granger_ ,” he ground out between gritted teeth.

“No, really, she’s actually pretty nice. Not to mention wicked smart and pretty sharp with it. And she’s pretty good looking too, in a wild sort of way.”

“Pansy!” Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten.

“All right, all right. Come on, I’ll show you to your seat; I’ve put you next to Blaise.”

Really, Draco should have seen it coming. He should have seen it in the smile she gave him as she offered him a helping hand up off the bench, but he supposed he was just too relieved that she had actually let the thing with Granger drop to take much notice. It turned out that he wasn’t sitting next to Blaise, he was opposite him. He was seated next to Granger.

Of course he was seated beside Granger; his two best friends were Slytherins. What else were they going to do?

“Granger,” he greeted her as he slid into his seat, casting a warning look at Blaise across the table from beneath his lashes.

“Malfoy,” she said haughtily, not looking at him. A stab of annoyance ran through him at her dismissive tone.

“Nice dress,” he commented casting an appraising eye over her and a deep thrum of satisfaction shot through him, obliterating the annoyance, as he watched her cheeks turn red and she shot him a distrustful look.

“Thank you,” she said grudgingly.

“I thought you three might like to sit together,” said Pansy’s head as it appeared between him and Granger and then in a cheerily conspiratorial voice to Granger: “I know Draco and Blaise can’t help but talk shop when they’re together, so I thought you’d want to join in since you were saying on Friday just how much you’re _enjoying_ it.” Granger gave Pansy a tight smile and their hostess turned to flounce away. An awkward silence settled over them.

“So you’re really enjoying it then, Granger?” asked Blaise taking a bottle of wine from the middle of the table and topping up all three of their glasses.

“I am,” she replied enthusiastically, a genuine smile lighting up her face. “It’s all so fascinating – even the Think Tank, though it is a bit …”

“Creepy?” supplied Draco helpfully, and Granger nodded smiling faintly.

“Yeah, it is a bit. I mean, Russels and Hobbs are really nice, just … unusual.”

“You don’t have to be polite about it,” said Blaise as the first course appeared on their plates. “We know they’re grade-A weirdos.” Draco stared down in horror at the food in front of him. Oysters; just what he needed.

“You okay there, Draco? You’re looking a bit green,” said Theodore Nott from his seat beside Blaise.

“Yeah, fine,” replied Draco reaching forward for a lemon wedge.

“Aren’t Oysters supposed to be Aphrodisiacs?” said Blaise conversationally and Draco was visited by the violent urge to stab him with his fork. He looked up to find Blaise smirking evilly at him. Draco glared murderously.

“I imagine Pansy thinks Weasley needs all the help he can get,” said Draco.

“Normally I’d have something to say to that,” said the voice of Charlie Weasley from Hermione’s other side. “But I’ve already watched him put away a bottle and a half of wine, so I’m inclined to agree.” Granger snorted.

“A bottle and half?” she said. “All the oysters in the world couldn’t help him now.” Charlie, Theo and Blaise laughed uproariously, but Draco could only grimace as something twisted uncomfortably in his stomach.

“So says the voice of experience,” laughed Charlie.

“Could we not?” Draco snapped. His temper was slowly going from bad to worse and he was beginning to think that Weasley really did have the right idea of things when it came to level of alcohol consumption. “Weasley’s sex life is not what I want to be thinking about whilst eating.”

“It does sort of turn the stomach, doesn’t it?” said Theo jokingly and as Draco watched a grey blob drop from the shell in his friend’s hand and into his mouth, he felt his own stomach turn. With a grimace he set his plate away from him.

“What’s wrong?” asked Granger quietly and he felt his stomach twist again.

“I’m not a fan of oysters,” he lied, deliberately not looking and her and trying desperately to fight down the overwhelming urge to run away. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and Draco couldn’t understand why he suddenly felt so angry.

“Have you picked a room yet, Granger?” asked Blaise whose own plate had quickly been devoured.

“Oh!” said Hermione faintly and he wondered if she had gone as red as he knew he must be. “Yes, I asked to go into the Love room.”

“The Love room, eh? Never took you for the sentimental type? Or did you feel something you liked whilst you were in there?” Draco really didn’t appreciate the suggestive tone in Blaise’s voice.

“She’s got some good theories on blood magic she wants to look into,” snapped Draco who was finally reaching the end of his tether. Blaise had the decency to look abashed.

A quick glance at Granger showed her face to be glowing scarlet as she stared down at her plate in humiliation, and Draco felt anger at Blaise coil in his stomach. Unable to fight his urge to flee any longer he stood abruptly.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” he said in a rush, speaking to the table cloth. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling one hundred percent, I think I’m going to go home.” And without sparing a glance he strode away from the table to make his excuses to Pansy, ignoring Blaise’s calls.

Draco felt waves of relief wash over him as his feet hit the carpeted floor in the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor, and he sank shakily into one of the gilded chairs. A House Elf appeared with a loud crack.

“Firewhiskey – the twenty five year old single malt. Take the bottle to my study.” The Elf disappeared with another ear-splitting crack.

Draco sat for a moment longer with his face resting in his hands and his stomach roiling angrily. What was _wrong_ with him?

Two hours and three-quarters of a bottle of whiskey later, Blaise apparated into his study.

“Draco-“ Draco held up his hand and Blaise swallowed whatever he had been about to say. Draco drained his glass and sloppily refilled it.

“Draco, what …”

“If I had any idea _what,_ this bottle would probably still be full.”

“You really think the answer is going to be at the bottom?” Draco laughed humourlessly.

“It sure as hell isn’t in my head.”

“What happened back there?”

“No idea.”

“That’s helpful.”

“What do you want me to say?” Draco raised the glass messily to his lips. “I don’t know what happened. I just didn’t want to be there anymore.”

“Because of Granger?”

“Yes, because of Granger.”

“I thought you didn’t fancy her?”

“I don’t.” There was a long pause and Blaise lowered himself into a large leather armchair.

“Draco, you’re going to have to give me more to go on because I really don’t understand?”

“Neither do I.” Blaise sighed heavily.

“So…”

“So?”

“What are you going to do?”

“What am I going to do? I’m going to go into work tomorrow and I’m going to get Granger apprenticed in the Love Room. I’m going to go to lunch with MacRannoch and sort out a brief for the team on the Scotland project, and after I finish work I’m going to come home and work out the teams for Scotland.”

“That’s your plan?”

“Do you have a better one?”

“You can’t just ignore it!”

“Yes I can. I will ignore it and it will go away and then I can go back to despising Granger in peace.” Blaise sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face.

“We’re not kids anymore, Malfoy; you don’t hate her.” Draco smiled grimly.

“No I don’t. That’s the problem.”

 


	4. Off the Beaten Track

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously with the edits I'm making to my old fics, this one took a little longer to get out than usual. Sorry! So, things are finally starting to pick up. I'm still trying to figure out just how graphic I want this to be.
> 
> Next chapter - Hermione makes it to Scotland!

** Chapter Four – Off the Beaten Track **

 

Three months and ten days. That’s how long it had taken her to complete her apprenticeship. It was the second quickest recorded apprenticeship in the history of the department. The quickest had been Malfoy himself with three months and five days, and Hermione was seriously considering the possibility that he had deliberately kept her on her apprenticeship longer that she’d needed to be in order to preserve his record.

Not that it mattered; she was now a fully fledged Unspeakable.

No more apprenticeship. No more training. No more having to subject her body and mind to embarrassing experiments. No more all-night study sessions. No more required reading, and no more exams. She was going to miss it – she had loved every second of her apprenticeship. She had enjoyed it in a way that she hadn’t enjoyed anything since her Hogwarts days.

She had made fast friends of everyone in the department, because everything seemed to overlap: Benson and Hedges from Death were constantly popping in to ask for clarification on something, or Hawkings would ask them to pop over to Time to have a look at something. There seemed to be a constant stream of visits back and forth between herself, Malfoy and Eros, and Russells and Hobbs. Even Blaise made regular appearances in her offices, although these tended to be of a social nature more often than they were professional.

Hermione had leant so much in the past three months and she was sad to see that learning period come to an end because Hermione was never happier than when she was learning something new.

And there was also Malfoy. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt with regards to him now that her apprenticeship had come to an end because she would now be working full time with Eros and Malfoy would go back to devoting all of his time to his position as Head of Department.

The Monday after pansy’s lunch, Hermione had come in to find him, as usual, already in his office. Neither of them had mentioned his behaviour the day before and things had been civil if slightly awkward between them. And that was how it had been ever since.

And yet, Hermione couldn’t help but like him. His patience with her had known no bounds, even when Hermione had driven Eros off in a frustrated temper. He had been an excellent teacher who had preferred a more hands on approach to sitting her in front of a pile of books, as he said had been done with him. The time he had invested in her had been, quite frankly, surprising and many a night they had holed up in his office with a take away whilst he helped her study for an exam or went over and over something she was struggling to get her head around.

And they had talked – not just about work. They had talked about the paths they had taken after Hogwarts. They had talked about, and even sympathised over, their failed relationships with Ron and Astoria. They had bonded over their mutual preference to work rather than to play. He had talked about his parents and their death, and Hermione had talked about hers. And sweet Merlin, the man could be funny when he wanted to. But he had never once allowed her to re-kindle their conversation regarding Malfoy’s views on blood-purity, and after several frustrating arguments, Hermione had given up asking.

And then there were the weekly department nights out that he had insisted were mandatory unless you had a good excuse, although he only seemed to attend half of them and Blaise none at all, and which Hermione had discovered he paid for from his own pocket when she had asked Blaise, in the midst of a hangover on a morning that succeeded one such night, exactly how he managed to secure such a large staff incentives budget.

Sometimes, Hermione couldn’t wrap her head around how much he had changed. And yet, he hadn’t. Not really. He was still Malfoy; still selfish, petulant and spiteful. Still too arrogant and too snobbish. They still fought like cat and dog.

And over all of this hung the prevalent sense of awkwardness; that barrier that stopped them from crossing over to truly becoming friends, and Hermione couldn’t help but regret it because, Malfoy, despite his faults, had grown up to be a good man, against all odds.

“Three months and ten days,” Malfoy drawled. “Impressive, Granger. Very impressive.”

“I know,” said Hermione cheekily. “ _It’ll take you six months, at least_ ,” She said, lowering her voice and doing an uncanny impression of Malfoy on the day she had come to ask him for a job. Malfoy smirked tolerantly at her.

“Please, Granger, my voice is much deeper than that.”

“And far more annoying, yes I know.”

“See here, Granger, I’ve been lenient with you during training, but I won’t tolerate your insolence now that you’re fully qualified. Watch your mouth,” said Malfoy sternly, and then he smirked mischievously. “Unless it’s to call Russell a barmy old todger again, because that was hilarious.” Hermione scowled at him.

“ _Why_ was that so funny?”

“You’ll figure it out eventually, McGonagall,” said Malfoy rising out of his seat and Hermione tutted at him.

“You know Malfoy, you’re so much more agreeable when you’re mouth is shut.” Malfoy grinned roguishly at her.

“Such a shame then that we’ve got a meeting now, isn’t it? Just think, an hour of listening to me talk…” Malfoy trailed off as Blaise came flying into his office, swinging on the door frame to stop his forward momentum, and his breathing laboured. Hermione felt herself rise up out if her seat in alarm. Blaise cast Hermione a fleeting glance before turning to address Malfoy.

“MacSteaphans fallen off the map and he’s been spotted in the neighbourhood,” was all he said.

“How the hell did he fall off the map?” said Malfoy angrily.

“Don’t you think that’s something we should figure out once we’ve … err … secured the area?” said Blaise pointedly and Malfoy scowled at him.

“Granger,” he said not looking at her. “I need to see to this. Why don’t you head back over to Love and I’ll pop by to pick up you and Eros when I’m finished.” Hermione looked between the two scowling men and hesitated.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.

“No,” said Blaise and Malfoy at the same time, still glaring at each other. “It’s fine, just a little pest control. I’ll be there soon,” said Malfoy.

Feeling frustrated but unwilling to push things to a point where Malfoy might lose his temper with her, Hermione shrugged and slipped past Blaise out the door.

Who was MacSteaphan? And what map were they talking about?

“What are you doing back? I thought we were all meeting in boardroom three for the Scotland brief?” said Eros as Hermione walked through the door to their small office.  It was opposite the Love room and thankfully _not_ done out in red, pink or purple. Hermione also had to admit that, for the sake of her waist line, she was thankful she didn’t have to spend all day in an office that required her to consume her own body weight in sweets on an hourly basis.

“Temporarily postponed,” said Hermione. “Malfoy had to run off for an emergency.”

“An emergency?” said Eros, his eyes widening. “What kind of emergency?” Hermione shrugged.

“Malfoy called it pest control.” Hermione couldn’t be completely sure, but it seemed to her as though Eros was avoiding her eyes. Suspicion sparked in Hermione’s mind. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard him mention someone called MacSteaphan before?”

There was no mistaking it this time, he definitely avoided her eyes. Hermione was deliberately being kept out of the loop on something. “Eros …”

“Yes, dear?”

“Who is MacSteaphan?” With a resigned sigh Eros turned to face her, eyeing her wearily.

“I’m not sure I’m supposed to tell you.”

“Why? Has Malfoy told you not to tell me?”

“Well, no,” said Eros bobbing his head from side to side making his blonde waves bounce. “But he hasn’t said that we can, either.”

“Eros-“

“You’re a smart girl, Hermione. I’m sure you could figure it out if you put your mind to it.” Hermione snapped her mouth shut and stared resentfully at Eros who smiled apologetically at her before turning away again. Malfoy certainly knew how to instil loyalty in his staff.

Hermione frowned to herself. So it was a codename for someone, then. Well, they didn’t call her the brightest with of her age for nothing.

Let’s see then. MacSteaphan. Etymologically it was Scottish or Irish, and meaning Son of Steaphan. Someone’s son? Hmmm …

So who was Steaphan? She didn’t know anyone called Steaphan. So perhaps they had kept in line with the Gaelic theme and translated that name too? It made sense. So what was it? The pronunciation sounded exactly like Stefan, but that was already a Nordic variation of the name Stephen. Son of Stephen? Did she know anyone called Stephen? Who was Stephen’s son?

Then it hit her and it felt as though her heart had stopped beating in her chest only to quickly start up again with a vengeance.

“Jesus Christ, _Stevenson_ ,” she choked out. She felt a wave of heat rush over her and her stomach heaved. A strong hand wrapped around her elbow.

“Hermione, love, are you okay?” Despite the fact that Eros was stood right beside her, it sounded as though his voice was coming to her from over a long distance; almost as if she were underwater and he was trying to talk to her from above the surface. The blood roared in Hermione’s ears and she was vaguely aware of being pushed down into a chair.

Eros was talking again, but she had no idea what he was saying. She watched his mouth move incomprehensively before he turned and dashed out the door to their office. Hermione closed her eyes as another wave of nausea washed over her.

He was there in front of her, vivid behind her eyelids. Stevenson’s face sneered down at her, red and dripping with sweat, and when he spoke his voice was ragged and his words broken by his heavy breathing.

_“Tell me you love me, Hermione. Tell me you want me.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Malfoy was livid.

He had spent the past three and half months successfully countering Stevenson’s every attempt to get near Hermione, and if he had finally managed to get around them then Draco was going to find whoever was responsible for the lapse in security and he was going to make them pay.

“I’ve already sent Hedges, Benson and Hawkings to have a scout through corridors one and two, and I’ve been through and jinxed corridor three – if he’s here, we’ll get him,” said Blaise from where he was keeping pace to Malfoy’s right.

“It’s not the sodding point,” growled Malfoy. “I said I wanted to know where he was at all times, and I said he wasn’t to make it past the seventh floor. I did _not_ say he was to fall off the map and then be spotted on the _bloody ninth_.”

Up ahead, the scrawny figures of Russells and Hobbs could be seen talking to an apprentice Auror beside the ninth floor elevator.

“Norman! Joe!” called Draco and the two men turned to face him.

“No sign of him, boss,” said Russells, whose first name was Norman. “We came through corridor four and jinxed it.” Malfoy nodded curtly.

“Joe?” he addressed Hobbs.

“I got in touch with Von in AMR, she confirmed that Stevenson left his desk about an hour ago and hasn’t been back since.” Draco cursed.

“Where are Benson, Hedges and Hawkings?”

“Right here, boss,” said Benson and Draco turned to find the three young men he had just queried about walking towards them. “Corridors one and two are clear, and have been jinxed.” Malfoy heaved a frustrated sigh.

“Where the hell is he?” Draco rounded on Blaise. “Who told you they’d seen Stevenson?”

“I did, boss,” said Hawkings stepping forward, running a nervous hand through his short, mousy hair. “I was coming up from level ten when I saw him coming out of the lift. By the time I ran down here, he’d disappeared.”

“That’s when I noticed he’d fallen off the map, after Walter told me he’d seen him,” said Blaise. Draco glanced briefly down each of the corridors leading away from the lifts before his eyes landed on the Auror who Russells and Hobbs had been talking to.

“Atticus Silks, isn’t it?” he asked the Auror who nodded nervously at him.

“Yes, sir.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m giving evidence to the Wizengamot today, I’m just waiting for Auror Weasley to come down – he’s lead Auror on the case.” Malfoy nodded.

“Seen anyone else around here?”

“No, sir,” said Atticus Silks. Draco sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. It needed cut.

_Not the time, Malfoy._

“Come on,” said Draco turning away and starting down one of the corridors. “We’ll do another round and then I’ll grab Eros and Granger.”

Halfway down the corridor Draco stopped dead as he suddenly remembered something.

“What is it?” said Blaise impatiently.

“Weasley’s in Shropshire.”

“So?” Draco spun on his heel and started stalking back down the hallway.

“Weasley is in Shropshire with Pansy at the Parkinson estate. If Weasley is at Parkinson Castle, how can he be expected to give evidence to the Wizengamot today?”

“ _Cazzo!_ ” cursed Blaise sprinting down the corridor after Draco, but when they reached the elevator Atticus Silks was gone.

“Pat?”

“Yes, boss?” said Hedges stepping forward.

“Head up to MLE. Ask about; see if a trainee Auror called Atticus Silks is meant to be giving evidence today. If he’s there, ask him when the last time he came down here was, and whatever you do, don’t let Potter get involved.”

“Aye, boss.” And without another word, the small Irishman disappeared into the elevator.

“The rest of us will split up. We’ll go in pairs for safety-“

“Malfoy!” Draco spun towards to shout to find Eros sprinting down the corridor towards him. “It’s Granger, you need to come quick!”

Draco felt his stomach drop to somewhere around his ankles. Stevenson had gotten to her!

“Where is she?” snarled Draco.

“In our office.” Draco took off down the corridor.

When he found her, she was slumped over her desk, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably and besides the fact that she was crying, Draco could see nothing obviously wrong with her. He sucked in a deep breath as relief washed over him. She wasn’t hurt.

The pound of heavy footsteps sounded behind him and he turned to find Blaise and Eros rounding the corner.

“Stay here,” he barked, then stepped into the office and closed the door behind him.

“Granger?” he said softly, but she didn’t respond and her curls continued to bounce obscenely as she sobbed into her folded arms.

“Hermione, it’s Draco,” he tried again, crouching down beside her chair and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Hermione’s head come up and he took in the terrified expression on her tear-stained, blotchy face.

“Draco?” Her voice caught and broke and Draco felt his chest tighten.

“That’s right.”

“Where is he?” she asked in a small voice, and Draco realised it was a sound he did not like. Hermione Granger was not supposed to sound like a scared little girl.

“We don’t know,” he said softly. Hermione’s head descended back down to her arms as another round of terrified sobbing racked her body and Draco did the only thing he could think of.

Sinking to the floor, he pulled Hermione out of her chair to between his sprawled legs and wrapped his arms around her.

He held her there for a long time, gently rocking her back and forth as her fearful tears turned his white shirt transparent. He whispered softly to her, paying no attention to what was coming out of his mouth, making soothing noises and gently massaging the back of her head. Hermione sobbed heart-wrenchingly into his chest, incoherent and broken sentences muffled where her face was pressed against him, and her fingers clutched painfully at his shoulders.

It took her a while to calm down, her tears drying out slowly until eventually she was slumped against him, shaking and hiccupping. Hermione turned her head to rest her cheek against him, her forehead resting in the crook of his neck and she took a deep, shuddering breath.

“What am I going to do?” she finally asked, her voice hoarse from crying. Draco tightened his arms around her compulsively.

“You’re not going to do anything,” he told her firmly, but trying to keep his voice soft. “I said I’d take care of this and I will.”

“He won’t stop,” said Hermione, a touch of hysteria entering her voice. “He’ll keep trying. He’ll keep coming after me.”

“Well, this is the closest he’s gotten in nearly four months,” said Draco consolingly, but Hermione still stiffened in his arms.

“How many times has he tried?” Draco swallowed thickly but didn’t respond. “Draco?”

“This was his seventh attempt.” A shudder went through Hermione and she released a wet choking sound. “Hermione, I promise, he will _not_ get near you. This is the closest he’s gotten in four months and seven attempts and even then he didn’t get to set eyes on you.”

The witch in his arms said nothing and he continued to rock her gently, taking his own comfort in the woody scent of her hair.

“Hermione, you need to tell me what he did to you.” Her head started to shake.

“No, I can’t-“

“You have to. I swear, I’ll take whatever you tell me to the grave, but I need to know what he’s capable of. I need to know what he might try.”

So Hermione Granger told Draco Malfoy her story.

 

* * *

 

 

White hot rage was coursing through his veins, but Draco suspected it was the only thing keeping him going.

Hermione had been sealed into his office for the time being whilst he took precautions to ensure it was safe to send her home.

“Blaise, head up to Transport. Have Hermione’s house disconnected from the Floo Network completely, barring Malfoy Manor. Then head over to hers and set up the strongest wards you can.” Blaise was gone a second later. “Benson, Hedges, I want you to find out where Stevenson lives and then head over there. Actually, take Russells with you; I want some insight into what makes this guy tick – make sure you’re not seen by his wife of kids.”

“Sure you’re not looking for a transfer over to MLE yourself?” Joked Hobbs, and if looks could kill then the glare that Draco turned on him would have put him six feet under.

“The next person to make a joke out of this is going to experience firsthand exactly what it is that qualifies the Cruciatus as Unforgivable.” No one responded to his threat. “Hobbs, go get Croaker. _Find Stevenson_.”

“Boss, what are you going to do?” asked Hawkings.

“I’m going to stay here and keep an eye on Hermione, and then I’m going to take her home once Zabini gives it the all clear.” If any of them found the ease of Draco’s role unfair, no one said so. Not that Draco would have cared if they had, at that point in time, he wouldn’t have trusted anyone else to do it.

“Okay, what do you want us to do?”

“Eros, head up to AMR. I don’t care how or what, but find me something we can Scry for Stevenson with.”

“On it.”

“Hawkings, bring me Potter, but not a word to him about what’s happened.”

“He’s going to ask what’s going on and he’s going to make a connection with Hedges’ visit to see Silks earlier. What do you want me to tell him?” Draco waved a hand impatiently.

“Tell him you’ve pissed me off so I’ve made you errand boy for the day – whatever you want, I really don’t care.” Draco smirked tiredly at him. “Throw in a couple of insults about me for good measure. He’ll like that.”

“Where do you want me to take him? Hermione’s in your office.”

“Just bring him here. I’ll figure something out.”

Hawkings bustled out of the boardroom and Draco sank wearily into the closest chair. He could feel himself shaking from a mixture of rage, adrenaline and fatigue.

What Hermione had told him had been … awful. Even back in their Hogwarts days when he had been cruel and childish and truly believed he hated her, even then he would have been horrified to hear about it. Or at least he liked to think he would have been.

Now? Now he _hated_ Stevenson – he wanted to hurt him. He wanted to make Stevenson shake and sob in fear of him, the way that Hermione did of Stevenson. Draco wanted him snivelling on the floor in front of him, bleeding and racked with agony, and not a wand in sight.

Draco ran a trembling hand through his dishevelled hair. Hermione was his friend – there was no way they could go through something like this, have her tell him what she did, and not end up friends – and Draco looked after his friends. He would do what he had to now.

“Malfoy?” Draco looked up to find the bespectacled form of Harry Potter stood in the door way.

“Potter,” he returned before addressing Hawkings. “I’ll take him from here.” Draco rose from his seat. “Let’s go somewhere a bit more private.”

Potter said nothing, he just watched Draco wearily as he moved to let him past. Draco led them to a door across the hall.

“Malfoy, what is this place?” asked Potter once they were inside and the door was closed.

“This is my _room_.”

“Your _room_?” Draco’s boastful smirk was not unfriendly.

“Perk of the job. I get my own room for my projects instead of having to share. You don’t like it?” Potter grimaced.

“It kind of reminds me of Snape’s office.” Draco chuckled softly and glanced around the room and the paraphernalia that covered almost every surface.

“Yes, I can see how it would.”

“So what’s this about?” asked Potter, levelling Draco with a weary, green stare.

“It’s about Hermione.”

“Hermione?” Potter’s eyes widened in alarm. “What about her? Is she okay? Where is she?”

“She’s fine, she’s resting,” said Draco raising a placating hand. “There was a minor accident earlier today, but she’s okay.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I’m going to have to keep her quarantined over the weekend. She wanted me to let you know so you wouldn’t worry.” Harry sighed aggravatedly.

“I _told_ her this place was dangerous.” Draco scoffed.

“Well your job is hardly a walk in the proverbial park either, is it?” Potter gave him a look that clearly said ‘that’s not the point, is it?’

“So if she’s okay why can’t I see her?” Draco paused. He hadn’t gotten this far when coming up with a story.

“Residual spell radiation. Need to contain it.” Yeah okay, that would do. Potter eyed him suspiciously.

“What kind of spell radiation?” Draco gave the shorter man a withering look and Potter sighed.

“Can I at least give you a message to give to her?” Draco almost smiled.

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

 

There was a reason why, when Draco was out of the office, he wouldn't have anyone else but Blaise stand in as his deputy. The man was bloody efficient.

Hardly an hour had passed since Potter had left Draco’s lab and Draco was stood in Hermione’s living room with Blaise, whilst the witch herself had been heavily dosed with dreamless sleep potion and put to bed.

“Floo’s been disconnected to everywhere but Malfoy Manor now that we’re through. I also had them make the place unplottable and I got Percy Weasley to rush through a licence for anti-apparition wards, so they should be up any time now,” Blaise said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” said Draco, equally quiet. “What wards have you put up?”

“Everything I can think of.”

“Specifically?” Blaise sighed impatiently.

“Anti-Intruder jinx, Cave Inimicum, Fianto Duri, Intruder Charm, Protego Maxima, Repello Inimicum, Salvio Hexia.” Draco nodded.

“Yeah, that should do the trick.”

“You don’t think he’d actually try and come after her here, do you?”

“No, Stevenson’s deranged but he’s not an idiot. But it’s better to be safe than sorry. Still no sign of him, I take it?”

“Not a dickie bird. He’s fallen off the map completely. I had Nott using the Auror map to locate him as well, told him it was someone who owed me money, but it’s like he’s disappeared off the face of the earth.” Draco nodded resignedly and moved to perch on the end of Hermione’s dining table. “Err … Draco, there’s something you should know.”

“Mmm?”

“It’s about the guys.”

“What about them?”

“Well, they’re not particularly happy at the moment.” Draco laughed humourlessly.

“Who is?” Blaise grimaced.

“No, I mean … with you.” One of Draco’s eyebrows slowly rose, and Blaise rushed on. “They think you’re over reacting – they don’t see why they should be running around and trying to sort out Granger’s personal life for her. They think that you’re – ah – trying to get into her _good graces_.”

“Do they?” Draco’s voice remained quiet but the menacing undertone was painfully obvious. Blaise perched himself beside Draco.

“Eros doesn’t, since he was the one that was there when Granger went to pieces,” said Blaise. “But everyone else appears to be of the opinion that your judgement might be clouded by … sentiment.”

“I see,” said Draco calmly, even though he felt anything but. “And what is _your_ opinion on the matter?”

“Come off it, Draco,” scoffed Blaise. “You know the first thing I’d have done is tell you to pull your head out of your arse if I thought you were over reacting. I don’t know specifics, obviously, but I know there’s more going on here than a spot of recreational stalking.” Draco snorted and rubbed a hand tiredly over his face. “Is it really that bad?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Just promise me something, Draco.” Draco remained silent, though he thought he knew what was coming. “Just don’t try and do everything yourself, yeah? You know how you get about things – remember she’s my friend, too. If you need help with the search, or with running the department, just give me a shout.” They sat in morose silence for a while, perched side by side on the table before Blaise pushed himself away from it.

“Right, I’m going to make a move. I’ll stay at your place tonight so you can Floo me if you need anything. I’ll send you a message later tonight once everyone’s had a chance to report back and keep you updated.” Blaise stopped by the fireplace and glanced around the room. “Tell you something, though; never expected Granger to have a place like this.”

Draco glanced around the elegant and well furnished living room. The flat was bigger than he’d expected and in a surprisingly upmarket area of London.

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice,” agreed Draco.

“Anyway,” said Blaise. “Tell Granger I’ll stop by tomorrow and see how she’s getting on.”

Draco saw Blaise into the fireplace with a small wave before moving to settle himself onto Hermione’s black brocade divan. He stared out of the bay windows in front of him into the immaculately kept communal gardens, which were currently empty, and he felt himself relax for the first time in hours.

Hermione was safely tucked up in her bed, and Blaise was taking over running things for the night. Draco glanced at the carriage clock perched on the mantle – six pm. A short nap wouldn’t hurt. It had been a long day – a bit of an emotional rollercoaster too, not that he’d ever admit it. He toed off his shoes and then stretched himself along the sofa, settling his hands lightly over his stomach.

Draco was asleep within minutes.

 

* * *

 

 

When Hermione came to she was disoriented to find that the room was pitch-black instead of the grey-light of pre-dawn she was used to. She knew she was at home; she recognised the feel of her bed beneath her and the smell of her lavender scented detergent on the sheets. What she couldn’t figure out was how she had gotten there.

Someone had given her a dreamless sleep potion. She knew that much. Smacking her mouth distastefully at the sour taste the potion had left behind; Hermione sat up and peered blearily down the hallway and into her living room. She could see a pair of large feet hanging over the edge of her divan, silhouetted against the silver light coming in through the bay window. Curiosity piqued, Hermione clambered out of bed.

The alarm clock on her bedside table told her it was shortly after two in the morning, and it appeared that she was still wearing her blue work suit, the skirt of which was horribly creased and wrinkled. She stood for a moment, thinking hard and trying to break through the fog caused by the sleeping potion that was reluctant to lift.

Something had happened at work, something pretty bad … Stevenson! Stevenson had been trying to get to her again. Hermione took a deep breath and tried to push aside her rising panic. He hadn’t gotten near her; Malfoy had seen to that … Oh God! Malfoy! She had _cried all over Malfoy_! Hermione whined softly in humiliation and screwed up her face. She’d never be able to look at him again.

But then what? Her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to piece together the fragmented memories that were flying around her head. He had brought her home – no, he and Blaise had. They had made her some tea, which must have been how they got her to take the potion.

Hermione glanced at the sock-clad feet hanging off the end of her sofa and felt her heart rate pick up. Had Malfoy actually stayed with her?

It could have been Blaise; they had become close over the past four months. Or they might have called Harry or Ron, but she sincerely hoped they hadn’t. Hermione’s stocking clad feet whispered over the Persian carpet that stretched the length of her hallway as she made her way towards the living room.

She tried to tell herself that she didn’t care which of them it was, that she was just glad to have someone there regardless, but as she approached the back of the divan and looked down on Malfoy’s sleeping form, she couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through her chest or the smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth.

In the light of the moon streaming through the window he looked like he had been carved from alabaster; his skin and hair bleached white by the silver hues. He reminded her of the statues she had seen when she had visited Egypt; perfectly smooth, ageless, and indescribably beautiful.

She gazed in fascination at the shadows that his lashes cast across his cheek, at the way his hair fell across his face and seemed to melt into his skin, at the slight upward curve of his lips. Something coiled painfully in Hermione’s stomach and she reached out a hand to brush back the hair from his face.

Her fingers had just grazed his skin when his eyes snapped open and his large hand fastened around her wrist. She felt herself pitch forward as Malfoy tugged on her arm and her free hand shot out to find purchase and stop her from flying over the back of the sofa. Suddenly she was inches away from Malfoy’s face, their noses in danger of brushing against each other, and his warm breath fanning across her face.

She could feel the rapid beat of his heart where her hand had come to rest on his chest, and she realised that its speed fairly matched that of her own.

“Granger?” His voice was low and rough from sleep, his pupils still dilated and Hermione felt her toes curl into the carpet beneath her feet as she fought not bite her lip. Merlin, there was something seriously sensual about him when he’d just woke up. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Hermione shook her head, unwilling to trust her voice.

Hermione watched as Malfoy’s eyes came back into focus and his grip on her wrist tightened. “Granger, what is it?”

“Nothing,” she whispered, shaking her head again. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Neither of them moved; they continued to gaze at each other with their hearts pounding in their chests. She watched as Malfoy’s pupils slowly dilated again; she watched his tongue dart out to wet his lips and something heavy began to burn low in her stomach. His head dipped forward slightly and she felt hers to the same until the tips of their noses brushed against each other.

A shock ran through her at the contact and it made Hermione shiver, but it was enough to break the moment. She felt herself pull back and Malfoy’s hand tightened almost painfully for a brief moment before he released her. The carefully blank mask was back over his face as he watched her.

“I’m sorry,” she heard herself saying again. “I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

Malfoy shook his head and swung his legs off the divan to rest his feet on the floor. “No, I’m awake now. What time is it?”

“About half two.”

“In the morning?!”

“No, Malfoy, in the afternoon,” Hermione replied with a pointed look at the window in front of them. Malfoy snorted and the tension surrounding them seemed to dissolve. He gave her an appraising look.

“How are you feeling?” He asked. Hermione gave him a strained smile.

“Good as new,” she said. “Seeing as you’re up, would you like some tea?” Malfoy nodded.

“Yeah, tea sounds good.” Hermione turned and started to shuffle towards the kitchen but stopped dead at the sight of an indistinct bundle in front of the dying embers of her fire place. On closer inspection it turned out to be a brown leather messenger back monogrammed with the initials DM and a letter addressed to Malfoy.

“Err … Malfoy?”

“Mmm?” his voice sounded from right behind her. Hermione jumped and spun to face him, and he smiled apologetically at her.

“I think these are for you,” she said holding out the letter and the bag to him.

“Oh,” he said. He took them from her hands and lifted the flap of the bag to peer inside. “Blaise must have dropped them off whilst we were sleeping,” he murmured and Hermione made a non-committal noise. She could feel herself blushing, although why, she didn’t know. There was just someone about hearing Malfoy say the words ‘whilst we were sleeping’ that made her distinctly uncomfortable.

Hermione hurriedly turned away and shuffled into her kitchen, the sound of Malfoy’s slower footsteps following behind her.

With a quick flick of her wand, which she had found beside her bag on the kitchen table, several globes hovering around her ceiling burst into light and both she and Malfoy winced at the sudden change. Two more flicks of her wand had the kettle filled and set to boil on the stove. The mugs she prepared by hand, trying to take her mind off the fact that she still felt jumpy and awkward.

“No news yet,” said Malfoy behind her with a resigned sigh and Hermione nodded her head. “Eros is going to try a scrying spell for him tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s good,” she said mildly, but her insides felt like ice. They always did when she thought about Richard Stevenson. There was silence behind her.

“I’m sorry; you don’t want to talk about him, do you?” Malfoy had come up beside her and was levitating the kettle off the cooker and onto the kitchen take. Hermione picked up their mugs and followed him.

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it,” she said once the water had been poured and they were both sat self consciously clutching their mugs. “Okay, maybe it is,” Hermione laughed at Malfoy’s disbelieving look. “But I know that I should.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to,” said Malfoy. “If you don’t want to know what’s going on, I won’t tell you. If you do want to know, I will. It’s your choice.”

“Why don’t we say,” said Hermione taking a shaky breath, “If I want to know something, I’ll ask.”

“Yes, that sounds sensible to me.”

They lapsed into silence, drinking their tea, blushing and smiling shyly whenever their eyes met. Hermione had never felt so uncomfortable in front of Malfoy in her entire life, and all she could think was that for a moment, back in the living room, she was sure she had wanted to kiss him. And she was sure he had seen it, too.

“I’ll – uh – let you get back to bed,” said Malfoy once he had finished his tea and Hermione looked up from where she had been dazedly staring at the table top in front of her.

“You’re not staying?” she blurted out and Hermione could have kicked herself for sounding so disappointed. Malfoy turned from where he had been rinsing his cup to face her, his eyebrows raised.

“I can stay if you want me to?”

“Oh, no, of course you’ll want to get home, don’t be silly …” she knew she was rambling, but the words continued to tumble from her mouth. She stood and grabbed her mug, but stilled when a warm hand wrapped around her elbow, the tips of its fingers digging in to the crook of her arm.

“Hermione, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel safe.” She looked up into his face wearily. “Do you want me to stay?”

Hermione nodded. Malfoy reached forward and lifted her mug out of her hands. Relief stole over Hermione as she watched him turn away from her and back towards the sink. She never thought she’d see the day that Draco Malfoy afforded her comfort and would make her feel safe. She wondered briefly if there was a very surprised farmer somewhere in the world whose pigs had suddenly developed avian tendencies.

“Do you have somewhere I can change?” he asked casually as he rinsed her cup, gesturing down to his trousers and shirt which was just as creased and wrinkled as her own clothes. He set the cup to drain.

“Of course,” said Hermione, leading him back into the living room. “Use the bathroom whilst I make up the spare bed.”

Even under threat of torture, dismemberment or death, she would never admit that she used the expensive sheets.

When Malfoy entered the spare bedroom a short while later, Hermione felt her mouth go dry. She had only even seen him in his shirts and trousers, which was an impressive sight in itself, but standing before her in a white t-shirt and dark blue pyjama bottoms which really left nothing to the imagination, Hermione suddenly understood exactly what had happened the first time she had stepped into the Love room with him. She felt her body heat up and quickly finished straightening the pillow.

“I’ll let you get to sleep,” she mumbled as she strode towards the door, but came up short as Malfoy’s arm crept across in front of her, blocking her way. Hermione looked up into his heavy gaze and was again confronted with an overwhelming urge to kiss him.

“I’ll leave the door open, just in case you need …” he trailed off and gestured vaguely with his hand.

“Thank you,” she whispered and cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Feel free to help yourself to whatever you want if you wake up during the night, or if you’re up before me in the morning.”

“Whatever I want?” he said, his eyelids dropping slightly and he seemed to sway into her for a moment. Hermione’s heart stopped as she gazed up at his intense expression, and then, suddenly, his arm dropped and Hermione’s breath silently whooshed out of her, and her heart seemed to start beating again with renewed vigour.

Malfoy made to move past her, but her hand shot out to grab his wrist, much to both their surprise and Malfoy turned to look at her.

“Thank you,” she blurted out. “For everything.” And then, before her nerves could abandon her, she placed her other hand on his shoulder to steady herself and swept up onto her tip-toes to place a kiss on the side of his jaw.

Hermione left him standing just inside the doorway of her spare room and fled to the safety of her own bedroom where she finally changed out of her work clothes and slipped back into bed.

As Hermione tossed and turned beneath her covers that night, all she could think about was how complicated her life had suddenly become: her personal stalker had reached a whole new level of frightening, her work colleagues appeared to have been running a network designed to keep her safe from said stalker, her two best friends were completely oblivious to the entire situation, her boss – and one time enemy – had turned into her knight in shining armour, and the icing on the cake: she was now pretty sure that she had started developing not-entirely-platonic feelings for said boss.

Hermione gave a quiet, miserable groan into her pillow and rolled onto her back.

Why did she like making life hard for herself?


	5. Peace Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long to get this out. I've been trying to fit writing in around a lot thats been going on. This was going to be a longer chapter than it is, but I thought I'd get this much out for you now.
> 
> Also, I've been going through my writings and am noticing a lot of silly mistakes. I've decided, what I need is a Beta Reader. Would anyone be willing to offer up their services to me to Beta my work going forward?

** Chapter Five - Peace Before the Storm. **

 

When Hermione awoke the next morning, she did so with a mild headache.

She lay in her bed, buried beneath the protective warmth of her feather-down quilt, and watched the unfamiliar play of shadows across her ceiling. Hermione had lived in this flat for over a year and could honestly say that she had never slept in late enough for her to have ever seen her white bedroom furniture brightened by the morning sun.

Mostly this was because Hermione was not the type of person to have a ‘lie-in’. In fact, lie-ins were not something that she enjoyed. They made her feel restless and wasteful; she’d much rather be up and doing something. She didn’t like wasting her days or being unproductive.

Today, however, she was making an exception. This was mostly due to the fact that, putting aside whatever the Sorting Hat might have to say on the matter, Hermione was coward, and in spite of her disgust that she was still in her bed an hour after she had woken up, she would rather be doing that than face what she knew was on the other side of her bedroom door.

Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy, who had slept in her house. Draco Malfoy, who had slept in her spare bedroom two doors away from her own, where she had wished him good night whilst he had been in his _pyjamas_ , which was an utterly absurd thing to be thinking, but she remembered how he had looked in those pyjamas so it wasn’t really absurd at all, because even in the harsh light of day the thought still made her heart flutter and the heavy heat still sat just above her pelvis, and Hermione could _not_ deny the fact that she fancied him and still very much wanted to kiss him.

So, Hermione was hiding. Hiding and berating herself for being so utterly foolish as to end up fancying Malfoy, all the while completely aware of the fact that it really wasn’t something that could be helped.

She should get up soon; she couldn’t hide in here all day. Besides, he would probably come to check on her soon anyway and Draco Malfoy in her bedroom was sot something she wanted to deal with.

Or, well, _it was_ , just … under different circumstances.

With a sigh, Hermione threw off her quilt and pulled herself out of bed. She stood for a moment and shivered in the cool air before pilling her house coat over her shoulders and shuffling out of her bedroom. On the other side of the door she stopped short and gawked at the back of the head she could see above the top of her sofa. Draco Malfoy did not have close cropped, wiry black hair.

“Morning, Granger.” Draco Malfoy’s voice, whilst easily recognisable that he was well bred in his cultured drawl, did not hold as much of a snobbish slip as what Blaise Zabini’s did. In fact, Hermione was sure not even the Queen could compete.

“I, ah … Zabini,” said Hermione. There came the sound of rustling paper as Blaise turned the page of whatever he was reading. “Where’s Malfoy?”

“Went home a couple of hours ago, he had a few things to do,” said Blaise as he turned another page and Hermione couldn’t decide if she was relieved or disappointed. “He left you some breakfast in the kitchen.”

“He left me some breakfast …” repeated Hermione weakly and her heart started to speed up again.

“Indeed – Banana pancakes,” said Blaise, sounding amused.

“Banana …” Blaise twisted around on the sofa to frown concernedly at her.

“You all right?” Hermione continued to stare at him for a few moments longer before slowly nodding her head.

“Fine, just didn’t know Malfoy could cook, is all.” Blaise threw his head back and laughed loudly, it was a deep, rich sound that Hermione had always thought suited him very well.

“He can’t,” said Blaise. “He got it downstairs from a café – Birdie’s or something.”

Oh, Early Bird. Well, that changed everything. Their pancakes were simply _divine_.

“Err … not that it’s not nice to see you,” said Hermione as she shuffled towards her kitchen. “But why are you here?”

“Keeping you company.” Hermione stopped dead and turned to face the dark man.

“Keeping me company? Whatever for?” Blaise gave her a flat look and Hermione felt a spark of anger run up her spine. “I don’t need to be ‘kept company.’ No! Look, I appreciate that you and Malfoy are going to such lengths to look out for me, I really, really do. But I’m not _helpless_.” Except, when it came to Stevenson, she knew that she was, because facing down Voldemort and his cronies was one thing, and facing down a psychotic sexual predator was quite another, but she refused to appear weak.

Hermione could only describe the look that Blaise was giving her as exasperated.

“I _know_ , Granger, but perhaps I’m not here for you. Perhaps I’m here for me.” Hermione frowned.

“I don’t understand.” Blaise’s face tightened and a muscle in his broad jaw twitched.

“You’re not that thick, Granger,” he spat at her and Hermione couldn’t find it in herself to be annoyed because she had a sneaking suspicion that she _did_ , in fact, understand and a pleasant heat had started to surge up her body, the same as it did whenever Harry or Ron did something unexpectedly thoughtful for her.

“Apparently I am,” Hermione answered him, trying desperately to control the way her lips were beginning to twitch. Blaise huffed loudly and glared at her over the top of the Daily Prophet.

“Maybe I was concerned,” he sneered at her, although the expression wasn’t particularly convincing on his face today. “Maybe I wanted to make sure you’re okay for my own piece of mind.”

Hermione could control her lips no more, and a wide grin spread across her face as warm affection seemed to flood through her. Blaise seemed to recognise the soppy smile that had spread across her face because his wand was suddenly pointing at her over the top of the newspaper. “Hug me and I’ll crucio you.”

Hermione laughed and turned back to the kitchen and Blaise’s scoff of “Gryffindors,” followed her through the door.

The smell of Banana pancakes washed over her and Hermione hummed in pleasure. They were definitely her favourite, and she was sure this was something she had told Malfoy on one of their all-nighters in his office, but the fact that Malfoy had potentially remembered something that she might or might not have told him and had possibly used that to do something nice for her was not something that Hermione was going to allow herself to think on.

Hermione reached out to open the white Styrofoam box and nearly groaned. Malfoy, God that he was, had charmed them to stay warm.

A loud whooshing sound from the direction of her living room announced the arrival of someone via Floo, and given that her Floo was only connected to Malfoy Manor at present there was only one person it could be. Hermione’s stomach did a small flip. She quickly grabbed the pancakes and a fork and rushed back into the living room.

It was, indeed, Malfoy, dressed in fitted jeans and a grey button-down. He looked up as she entered the room and one of his pale eyebrows rose slowly as he took in her appearance, from her too-big pyjama bottoms to the too small vest and the ratty old Pride of Portree housecoat she was sure had belonged to Fred once. Hermione felt her cheeks heating. She wasn’t even wearing a _bra_.

“Granger.” Malfoy smirked, having seen her pink cheeks and noticing her obvious discomfort.

“Malfoy,” she returned and then awkwardly indicated the white food box in her hand. “Thanks for breakfast.”

Malfoy’s smirk widened but it was distinctly playful and Hermione felt her cheeks heat for an entirely different reason. A loud, derisive snort brought their attention back to Blaise and Hermione realised Malfoy had been in the middle of handing him a large folder. He held another one, identical to the one now in Blaise’s possession, on which she could clearly see her name scrawled in Malfoy’s elegant handwriting.

“Scotland brief,” said Malfoy in answer to her questioning look and he tossed the formidable looking piece of stationary onto the dining table on her right. “I briefed the rest of the team this morning at the manor. Have a look through them, then we can go through it and go over any questions you have – mind if I grab myself a cuppa, Granger?”

Hermione, who was already seated at her dining table and absent mindedly feeding herself banana pancakes whilst reading through the first page of what appeared to be Malfoy’s nineteen page introduction, waved her hand vaguely towards the kitchen in a gesture of acquiescence, and Malfoy disappeared behind her.

 

**_ Department of Mysteries: Classified: Scotland 2007 Brief. _ **

_Location:      Balnuaran of Clava  
                Approximately 7 miles east of Inverness_

_Dates:     Prep Team: Nov. 20th. 2006  
                Full Team: Jan. 8th. 2007_

Rooms:   _All_  
 _Leads: Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini_  
 _Team Leads: Norman Russells, Caron Atkinson, Patrick Hedges, Walter Hawkings_

_Prep Team:     Blaise Zabini, Thomas Benson, Hermione Granger, Joseph Hobbs._

__

_ Background information: Balnuaran of Clava. _

_Balnuaran of Clava is a bronze age Wizarding burial site in Northern Scotland. The site consists of three small, relatively well preserved cairns, aligned on a north-east to south-east axis. The cairns are thought to date from the late Neolithic period. Unlike the larger Neolithic tombs found in other parts of the country, the tombs at Clava were not used over a long period of time by the larger Wizarding community, rather evidence suggests that they were preserved for more elite members of a Celtic Wizarding tribe, perhaps even a ruling caste._

 

Hermione blinked. She already knew all of this. She hoped this wasn’t going to be a nineteen page introduction on things she already knew about Scottish Wizarding history.

Blaise had moved to sit at the dining table to her left and Malfoy returned to the living room bearing three cups of tea. Hermione accepted hers with a quiet thank you and turned back to the folder in front of her. She skipped forward past the introduction:

 

_Accepted for Investigation under DoM Guidelines:_

_Section **A** , Subsection **1:** Risk of direct danger to Muggle and Wizarding persons._

_Section **A,** Subsection **6** : Risk of severe breach to stature of secrecy._

_Section **C** , Subsection **9** : Risk of misuse, by Wizarding persons, of magic(s) classified as dangerous and/or unusable by DoM legislation._

_Section **T** , Subsection **1** : Unknown/Un-encountered magic(s) for investigation and classification by the DoM_

_Approved **:  D.L. Malfoy**. (Department Head)_

_Historically, reports of incidents at Balnuaran of Clava have been scarce and hard to determine the nature of, or to even verify in most cases._

_A recent upsurge in visitors to British Wizarding Historical sites in the aftermath of the Wizarding war instigated by the wizard styling himself as Lord Voldemort has seen an increase in the number of incidents at the Clava which has allowed them to be isolated and the nature of several of these incidents to be determined._

**_ Mr Spinks, Martin: 43 Years old: Welwyn Garden City, Herts. Wizard. _ **

_Mr Spinks visited the site with his wife and two children in the summer of 2000. Early in 2001, Mr Spinks was removed to St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries with magically induced late stage dementia. At the time, no one connected the failings of his health with the visit to Clava._

_Mr Spinks, on his visit to the site, had removed a small, circular stone from one of the Cairns as a souvenir. This was brought to the attention of St Mungo staff in 2004 after one of the Spinks children tried to kill their sibling using the stone. Subsequent testing of the stone has revealed a curse, the exact nature of which is unknown._

_(Full information in case files: pages 132-274)_

**_Mrs Ranulph, Clara: 27 Years old: Oxfordshire. Muggle._ **   
**_Miss Ranulph, Breann: 21 Years Old: Boston, USA. Muggle._ **   
**_Mr McIntosh, Roger: 27 Years Old: Inverness, Invernesshire. Muggle._ **

_A series of disappearances and re-appearances connected to the Clava have been recorded by Muggle law-enforcement. Full details of all disappearances and re-appearances can be found in the full case files (Pages 132-274)._

_The recent discovery of diaries belonging to Persons: Mr James McIntosh Grant, Mrs Clara Ranulph Grant, Mrs Breann McIntosh and Mr Roger McIntosh, dates of the diaries ranging from AD 1743 to AD 1790, has given rise to the theory that the Clava is in such a position as to allow time travel._

 

Hermione physically reared away from the page in front of her. Time travel? What?

“Err … Malfoy?”

“Finished?”

“I’m just looking at the overview of the Ranulph disappearances.”

“Ah  ... yes?”

“Time travel, really?”

“You sound sceptical?”

“Well-“

“Really, Granger?” said Blaise, raising his head from his own folder. “You used a time-turner for most of our third year you’re sceptical?” Hermione blushed.

“I just meant … it just seems … well, extreme. I’m sure there must be another reason entirely, a far more logical one.”

“Certainly, there could be,” said Malfoy sipping his tea. “And if there is, we’ll be sure to find it. I would, however, hold off of postulating until after you’ve read the diaries.” Hermione made a non committal sound and turned back to the folder in front of her.

“Actually, I think you can probably leave it there for now,” said Malfoy setting his empty tea-cup onto the table with a clink. “The rest is just case files and notes from the Scottish office on what’s already been done on the site as far as investigations go.” Malfoy’s tone made it clear exactly what he thought of these efforts.

“What I really wanted to talk to you about is the prep team. Now, I’m sending you out on the twentieth, which I’m sure you’re both aware, is this Wednesday. I know its short notice, but given the circumstances I thought …Well, yes …” Malfoy cleared his throat uncomfortably and his eyes flickered quickly to Hermione whose skin tightened with disgust and fear as the thought of Stevenson flashed through her mind.

“You’ll be going straight to Edinburgh where you’ll be met by MacRannoch and some of his team. On Wednesday they’ll give you an in-depth brief on their own research.” Malfoy snorted derisively and Hermione felt her lips twitch in amusement. “Thursday will be spent at the site running diagnostics, and I _mean just diagnostics_ ,” he said giving Hermione a hard look.

“You will then return to Edinburgh, after securing the site, and begin prepping for the arrival of the full team. You will be there until December twenty third at which point you will be coming home for the Holidays. The fourth and fifth of January, the team will put together an action plan using the prep-work done by yourselves and then we’ll all be heading out there on the eighth. There is, actually, an itinerary at the back of both your briefs. Any questions?”

“Yes,” said Hermione immediately. Malfoy scowled and Blaise laughed.

“Merlin, Granger … go on, what is it?”

“How does this work?”

“What do you mean ‘how does this work’? Did you seriously just ask me that? Sweet Circe, I did not just sacrifice three months of my life apprenticing you, for you to ask me how this works.”

“Honestly, Malfoy.”

“ _Honestly, Malfoy-_ “

“Yeah, all right you two,” said Blaise with an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples tiredly. “Why don’t you elaborate on your question a bit more, Granger? I’m sure Draco’s simply misunderstood what you mean.” Hermione gave Blaise a brief, thankful smile before turning a glare on a sneering Malfoy. Her stomach clenched angrily and she briefly wondered how she could have ever thought she fancied him.

“I mean, literally, how does this _work_?” Hermione said, as though speaking to an idiot, which, she reflected, she was. “Do we all rock up and chip in or are we still going to be focusing on our specialisations?” Malfoy’s sneer intensified.

“It’s a fair question, Draco,” said Blaise firmly. “She’s never been out on a project before.”

Hermione, feeling self-satisfied with Blaise’s support, settled back in her chair and crossed her arms, watching as Malfoy’s cheeks coloured in either embarrassment or temper, possibly both, and a haughty expression stole across his face.

“You’ll continue to focus on your specialisations,” said Malfoy, his voice very tight with forced politeness and what appeared to be the effort not to sneer. “You will prep on your specialisation, report to Eros when you return and then together you will develop an action plan.”

“Okay …” said Hermione slowly. “Forgive me if I’m missing something again, but I can’t see what Love could have to do with cursed stones, Bronze Age burial sites and time travel.”

Malfoy’s mouth tipped up in a small, almost mocking smile and Hermione’s anger clenched in her gut again.

“Hermione, Love has everything to do with _everything_.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was Tuesday evening and there were more people in Hermione’s house than she knew how to handle.

Malfoy had had her Floo reconnected to the Potter residence and to Parkinson Castle (where Ron was now, apparently, living with Pansy), on Monday morning. After a lot of begging, six arguments, two tantrums, a projectile kettle and a trip to St Mungo’s, he had also connected her Floo to Neville and Luna’s houses and to the Burrow. The compromise had been a detection charm tied to his and Blaise’s wands which alerted them to every person who entered and left her home via her fireplace.

As Hermione stared hopelessly around at the thirteen people occupying her living room, she wondered if she hadn’t been better off letting Malfoy have his own way.

She gave herself a little shake. They were here to spend some time with her; she wasn’t going to see them for a month. She should be touched that they had come to see her and that they cared enough to want to spend this time with her before she went.

“Merlin’s socks, I’m hungry,” whined Ron from where he was sprawled on the sofa and nestled into Pansy’s side. Noises of agreement sounded from Ginny, Charlie and George.

“Weasleys,” said Pansy, disgustedly, but her hand moved to stroke tenderly over Ron’s hair.

“I could murder a Chinese, mind,” said Lavender from her spot beside the fire. This proclamation was met with unanimous sounds of agreement, and Hermione’s stomach gurgled loudly, trying to join in.

“Chicken and black bean,” moaned Neville longingly from his chair.

“Prawns and garlic,” added Angeline from George’s lap.

“Szechuan beef,” said Arthur, and Molly hummed in appreciation.

“Seaweed,” added Luna cheerfully and Blaise let out an uncharacteristic “Ooh!”

“Sounds like we’ll be having Chinese for dinner, then,” concluded Charlie.

Silence descended over them and they looked amongst each other expectantly. Finally, Harry heaved a deep sigh. “I’ll go get it then, shall I?”

“Good man, Potter,” called Blaise at Harry’s retreating back as the bespectacled man went to collect the menus from the kitchen drawer.

Forty five minutes later, fourteen people were crammed around Hermione’s magically enlarged dining table.

“Ooh, this was such a good idea,” Ginny groaned around a mouthful of some beef in a mystery sauce.

“And let no one forget that it was mine,” said Ron smugly.

“So proud,” mumbled Pansy around a mouthful of food. Blaise didn’t even bother to admonish her.

“Err … does everyone remember who made it happen?” said Harry indignantly.

“Heavens!” said George earnestly, mockingly, looking up from his plate. “The man’s right! Is there no end to your sacrifices, Harry? First the Philosopher’s stone-“

“Oi!” cut in Harry.

“Slaying Basilisks,” added Ginny conversationally, and smiled brightly at the betrayed look Harry gave her. Hermione felt a laugh starting to bubble up inside of her.

“Defying the laws of time and battling a hundred Dementors,” she added, archly.

“Dragons!” called Charlie enthusiastically.

“Giants and centaurs and Death Eaters,” followed Lavender, barely able to speak for her laughter. Harry scowled darkly and opened his mouth but Ron quickly cut across him.

“Acromantulars!” he said with a shudder.

“Vanquishing Dark Lords!” Neville had his say, whilst tucking into his chicken and black bean with relish.

“And you still managed to go out and get us dinner, Potter?” drawled Blaise. “I’m impressed.”

“All right, shut up the lot of you,” snapped Harry, but his green eyes glittered happily behind his glasses. “Speaking of Dark Lords, where _is_ Malfoy?” Laughter rippled around the table, but Hermione’s stomach clenched painfully.

Malfoy was still in a mood with her. In fact, when she had asked him to come round and join them, he had coldly told her: “I can think of a thousand other things I’d rather do with my time, Granger, I’ll pass.”

Hermione felt hurt twist in her chest again and she smiled tightly down at her plate.

“He couldn’t make it; it’s been a bad week at work.”

“Don’t lie, Granger,” said Blaise, his voice surprisingly hard. “He’s sat at home sulking again because you got one over on him.” Hermione swallowed hard when Blaise’s knee pressed comfortingly against hers under the table.

“What did you do?” Pansy asked, almost accusingly.

“She threw a kettle at him,” said Blaise. Silence flowed over the table as all but Molly, who had been frowning at her plate for a while, turned to stare at Hermione who stared defiantly back.

George cleared his throat. “She threw a kettle at him?”

“Yes,” said Blaise.

“Merlin, Morgana and McGonagall, Hermione, that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard,” said Angelina gleefully and Ron and Ginny nodded their heads in vigorous agreement.

“Sounds brutishly violent to me,” said Pansy waspishly and shame heated Hermione’s face.

“I can assure you he deserved it,” replied Blaise, but Pansy’s angry gaze did not waver and Hermione privately agreed with her. Too many times her temper had driven her to violence with Draco Malfoy, and she couldn’t blame him for being angry really. Especially when he was the only one she could be driven to violence with.

“Yes, well…” said Ron uncomfortably, and he eyes flickered fearfully between his fiancé and Hermione.

“Mum? What’s wrong?” said Ginny suddenly and Hermione turned to watch the Weasley Matron’s head rise slowly to settle a dark look on Harry. Arthur bent over his plate and began to shovel food into his mouth.

“What exactly did Hermione mean by you ‘defying the laws of time’?” said Molly sharply.

A relieved laugh ripped around the table.

Harry dropped his face into his hands and groaned pitifully.

 

* * *

 

 

It was late when Hermione’s guests eventually left, and she had seen them off with lots of hugs and promises to Owl them. Watching Harry disappear in a flash of green flames she breathed a sigh of relief, finally alone, and she turned excitedly towards her bedroom. She was exhausted.

She shuffled tiredly towards her dresser and pulling her drawer open she reached in blindly for something to wear to bed. She tugged it out and was suddenly surrounded by the strong smell of soap and oranges and fireworks that tugged painfully at her heart.

_Oh, Fred…_

Hermione laid the shirt down gently on the bed and slowly began to undress.

Poor, wonderful Fred. Always smiling, always joking, and always trying to find the fun in life. He had been quick to anger, quick to apologise and even quicker to forgive. If anyone had had to die, it should never have been him.

Hermione breathed deeply as she pulled the shirt over her head. Eight years he had been dead, and whilst they had never been as close as she was to some of the other Weasleys, she was glad she at least had this left of him.

Lavender had taught her the charm that allowed the shirt to keep his smell. Now, she used it on every piece of clothing she stole from her friends. She was growing sentimental in her old age.

Another deep breath and the smells washed over her again; Fresh, Citrus and Smoke. Smells that reminded her of summer and long days and happiness.

She hoped wherever Fred was now, it was summertime all the time.

A loud whoosh caused her to jump and Hermione turned to see her living room glow green and tall figure unfold itself from her fireplace.

Hermione’s heart hammered in her chest.

“Granger?” The figure called; its head twisting from side to side as it looked around her darkened living room.

Hermione took a deep breath. “Malfoy?” she called back. His head snapped towards the bedroom. Hermione barely had time to blink before he was striding down the hallway towards her.

“I just wanted to make sure you were all ready for tomor-“

Light flared into life above her head and, startled, Hermione stared up at the frozen form of Draco Malfoy, his wand still pointed at the ceiling, and his eyes fixed alarmingly at her shirt.

Embarrassment flowed through her and Hermione tried uselessly to tug the shirt lower down her thighs. The movement must have registered with Draco because his eyes flickered briefly, guiltily, to her face before travelling down the length of her and then snapping to rest on the carpet in front of her feet.

As an afterthought, Malfoy dropped his arm, which was still being held aloft, back down to his side and Hermione was visited by the absurd need to laugh.

“Sorry,” mumbled Malfoy uncharacteristically. “I didn’t…” But whatever he didn’t, Hermione never got to find out because he trailed off and started to rub, self consciously, at the back of his neck, his eyes never leaving the floor.

Hermione cleared her throat.

“Yes,” she said shrilly and then grimaced. “Err … yes, I’m all set for tomorrow.”

Malfoy nodded and chanced a look up before straightening his shoulders and staring determinedly at her face. “Do you … err … need anything? Any last minute questions?”

“No,” said Hermione, shaking her head slowly. Malfoy nodded his head sharply and pressed his lips together. His skin was very pink.

Abstractly, Hermione observed that this was the most awkward situation that she had ever been in.

“Yes, well … I’ll just …” Malfoy made a vague gesture and turned towards the door.

For reasons that would remain forever unknown to her, Hermione darted forward to grab his arm.

“Draco, wait.” Surprised, Malfoy spun back to face her and Hermione bounced off of his chest with a startled “oof.” A pair of strong hands gripped her shoulders to steady her.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, looking up into Malfoy’s, still, very surprised face. “I just wanted to … well … exactly that – I want to say sorry for earlier,” she explained. “About throwing the … the kettle.”

“Oh,” said Malfoy, and he removed one of his hands to reach up and touch the spot where the Kettle had connected with his head earlier that day. “Yes, well, it hurt less than the punch you threw at the Ministry Ball a few years back.”

Hermione groaned and dropped her face into her hands. “This is what I mean; I can’t help myself. I have no idea what it is about you that make me-“

“Lose control?” He sounded amused but the lowered tone and the way his voice seemed to vibrate around her caused her to look up into his smirking face.

“I was going to say ‘resort to violence’ but, yes, that too,” she said seriously.

The smirk vanished from Malfoy’s face and Hermione was suddenly aware of how very close they were standing again, of his hand still gripping her shoulder and the soft ripple of his breath across her face.

A shiver shot down her spin and Malfoy’s grip on her increased, his fingers curling into the skin of her shoulder. They seemed to sway towards each other for a moment and heat exploded all over Hermione’s body and then, suddenly, Malfoy was no longer here, he was making his way back down her hallway.

“Don’t worry yourself about it, Granger,” he called coldly over his shoulder. “We wouldn’t be us if we didn’t make each other cry at least once a week.”

Blindly, Hermione followed him down the hallway and watched as he threw a pinch of Floo powder into the grate.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” he said softly and Hermione felt herself nod dumbly.

Malfoy’s eyes swept down the length of her once more with a gaze that left her shivering and burning all at once and then he was gone.

Dread settled into Hermione’s stomach as she stared at the dying embers in her grate. This thing she had for Malfoy was dangerous. He was her _boss_.

Even so, Hermione couldn't help but feel bereft when she realised that after tomorrow, she wouldn't be seeing him again until January.


	6. City of Dreams and Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out guys. The past six months have been from hell and my writing had to take a back burner in the face of far more important things. 
> 
> But, I'm back now and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Chapter 6 – City of Dreams and Nightmares.**

 

Draco Malfoy flew from the fireplace in his study with an aggravated growl and, unheedingly, proceeded to tramp soot all over his antique Aboussin.

What was _wrong_ with him?

Why had he even gone to Granger's flat tonight? To make sure she was prepared for the trip? Really? Even he knew what an utterly pitiful excuse that had been. Of course she was going to be prepared, she was probably better prepared for this project than he was.

Draco threw himself heavily into the wing-backed chair behind his desk and dropped his head into his hands, his fingernails digging sharply into his scalp.

And of course, she must have known it was just an excuse and that he had only been there because he wanted to see her. It seemed to him that he always wanted to see her these days and it was pathetic the way he was running around after her.

Even more so when he was still doing it mere hours after she had tried to decapitate him with a kettle.

Although, he reminded himself, she had apologised for that.

And, Merlin, what a fool he had made of himself just then, with his staring, and, being completely honest, outright perving over her in that shirt.

Whose shirt was it anyway? It was clearly a man's.

Not that it mattered.

It could belong to anyone.

It's not like he _cared_.

But Christ, this pre-occupation he had with her needed to stop because there was no way he was going to let the team's dynamics be ruined because he happened to have a hard on for her.

And that's exactly what it was. He had gone for too long without seeing to one of his basic needs and now it was manifesting itself in this utterly ridiculous attraction to Granger.

He needed-

No.

What he _needed_ was to get _laid_.

And soon.

He needed this out of his system, even if it reduced him to trawling bars.

_Crack!_

“Master Draco?”

“What do you _want_?” Draco hissed at the House Elf.

“Master has a visitor, sir.”

“What?”

“Master has a visitor in the drawing room.”

“Well, get rid of them.”

“But, Master-”

“I _said_ get rid of them. It's gone midnight for Christ’s sake.”

“But Master, it is Mistress Astoria.”

Draco Blinked.

“Astoria?”

“Yes, Master, and she says she will not leave until she has seen you. She says it is of the highest importance that she must speak with you tonight.”

Draco slumped back into his chair. Astoria – he hadn't seen her in nearly a year. She had gotten married three days ago, hadn't she? What could she possibly want? And at this time of the night, as well? Did it matter? Surely seeing her had to be better than moping over Granger.

“Yes, fine, okay, show her up – oh, and Tippy? Bring the Indian Assam. I have a feeling I'm going to need something stronger than Early Grey or Oolong.”

 

* * *

 

Hermione had awoken shortly before dawn as a quivering ball of nerves because sweet Merlin was she _excited_.

Because this – _this!_ \- this was what she had imagined for herself after Hogwarts: travelling the world and unravelling its mysteries. And, okay, so Scotland was hardly globetrotting, and she had spent seven years going to school here, but that had never been anything like this.

Edinburgh was _roaring_ , and it was positively vibrating with old magic. Everywhere she looked the Wizarding World was thriving and the people – _the people!_ \- of Edinburgh, this incredible crush of humanity and ignorance, wandered through the middle of it all, completely benighted to a whole other world right on their door steps.

The sheer force of the Wizarding World's presence in this relatively tiny city was dazzling and Hermione soon became dizzy in her eagerness to take in absolutely everything. She had fallen behind her colleagues in their walk up the Royal Mile as she spun and spun and spun and her eyes feasted on two worlds that were so far apart, so close together and so startlingly intertwined.

Because just look at it all.

There! Beside that Ladbrokes shop, hidden in plain sight, was a Zonko's.

And next to the Woollen Mill was nestled a dark apothecary.

Beside the Royal McGregor pub was The Wandering Warlock, overflowing with witches and wizards dressed in jewel coloured robes and the points of their hats glittering in the sun, smiling and waving to her as she slowly spun past them.

Her world was everywhere: An Owl Post Office, Mathilda's Magical Menagerie, The Alchemical Society of Scotland, Alfard's Wizarding Wear.

All of it stood side by side with their muggle counterparts and it was here on the legendary Royal Mile that Hermione finally found that the Wizarding World and the muggle world could quite happily co-exist and it was simply _magical_.

Hermione giggled to herself.

“Granger?”

Further up the steeply sloping street, Blaise stood watching her, derisive amusement curling the corners of his full lips.

“Sorry,” said Hermione sheepishly.

“We're through here,” said Blaise gesturing to a blank stretch of wall on the corner where the Royal Mile met Cockburn Street. Behind him, outside what appeared to be a Vegan take-away, a group of girls were eyeing him appreciatively.

Hermione couldn't blame them. In a perfectly tailored grey suit, the slender lines of his body were displayed to maximum effect and he was tall, maybe even taller than Malfoy. In the morning sun his skin seemed to glow delightfully in shades of russet and umber and his eyes were dark and intelligent and, at times, unnerving in all the right ways.

“You all right there?”

“Oh, yes,” said Hermione, startled, and moved up beside him smiling apologetically. The small group of girls behind them moved off disgruntled. “I'm fine. I've just never been to Edinburgh before. It's wonderful.”

“Delightful,” drawled Blaise, looking around them with a sneer. “Come on, MacRannoch will be waiting for us,” and he strode confidently through the solid wall he had indicated at earlier. With a wistful sigh, Hermione followed.

MacRannoch, on first sight, was a terrifying man. He was large in all the ways that a person could be large with thick legs and arms and a barrelled chest. His hair, which was rust coloured and wiry, seemed to be growing from _everywhere_ and when Hermione moved to shake his hand, she briefly entertained the fear that he might break hers.

“Miss Granger, I'm to presume?” He asked, his voice impossibly deep and his accent strong. He stooped down slightly to peer delightedly at her from beneath the bushiest eyebrows she had ever seen.

“Err, yes. But, please, call me Hermione.” A wide grin split the wild looking man’s face.

“Oh aye, but yer a bonny lookin' one, eh?”

“Oh, well, thank you,” said Hermione, flustered, her face beginning to heat and she shot a sharp look at Blaise and Benson who had begun to snigger at her.

“Aye, an' welcome to ye then. If ye'll all follow me, I'll tak ye through and ye call all meet my team.”

MacRannoch's team was twenty five strong and their job, so it seemed, entailed an odd mixture of Accidental Magic Reversal, Magical Law Enforcement and, as far as they were able, investigative work. Hermione hadn't been in their company more than five minutes before she began to doubt their ability to fulfil any of these roles. She deflated and her good mood of that morning dissipated as she came to the realisation that the Scottish Ministry offices were entirely as inept as Malfoy and Blaise had been telling her.

MacRannoch's team gave what was, apparently, supposed to be a briefing on their work at the Cava. Hermione's disillusionment turned to annoyance as the full extent of their inadequacy became apparent. They were apathetic towards the project, showing little or no interest in what they had been doing. Their investigative work had been basic and shoddy at best and they were completely unable to answer most of the questions Hermione's team asked them.

Hermione couldn't even bring herself to feel embarrassed when Benson quite audibly scoffed “fucking useless.”

The only half-decent piece of work appeared to have been done by a small contracted team of two people who they would be meeting at the site the next day.

So it was, Hermione, Blaise, Benson and Hobbs were all equally aggrieved when they apparated away from MacRannoch to the apartments Malfoy had secured for them.

They arrived – Hermione having side-alonged with Hobbs – in front of a beautiful two-story Georgian town house which looked out onto a small, pretty green which had been fenced in. The street was quiet and a sign on the corner of the road proclaimed that they were currently in Great King's Street.

Hermione knew one thing for sure: the money for the accommodation had most definitely _not_ been covered by the Ministry budget.

“Malfoy owns half the street,” said Blaise as he came up beside her, smiling slyly as though he had read her mind. “We've had to come up to Edinburgh a few times and we always stay here instead of the Ministry apartments in Corstorphine.” Blaise gave a theatrical shudder of disgust at the thought of the Ministry apartments and moved towards the house.

The house had been renovated into two apartments. A two bed downstairs and a three bed upstairs. Benson and Hobbs, without a word to Blaise or Hermione, immediately occupied the bottom flat and Hermione followed Blaise up a narrow, marble staircase.

Upon entering her new home for the next year, Hermione realised immediately that these were obviously Malfoy's own personal apartments because only he could own a flat that was this pretentious. Luxurious almost seemed to tame of a description.

Every room had been furnished with most elegant French baroque furniture that Hermione had ever seen. All of it authentic, if she was not mistaken. The floors were resplendent in, what she was sure were, priceless axminsters and Persians. The walls were lined with ornate and gilded frames containing a mixture of exquisite muggle and wizarding art.

In the lounge, an enormous fireplace seemed to take up half of the far wall and above it an equally large gilded mirror reflected her own awe-struck expression back to her.

“No bad, eh?” said Blaise from behind her and Hermione could only nod dumbly because there, in the corner, was a painting that Hermione was sure was no longer supposed to exist.

“Zabini, is that-”

“Leda and the Swan, yes.”

“Is it – is it real?”

“Most definitely. The Malfoy's aren't going to make do with reproductions.”

“Michelangelo, right?”

“Very good, Granger.”

“Zabini, that painting was lost nearly five hundred years ago.”

“In France?”

“Yes, in France.”

“Where the Malfoy family originated? Where some of them most certainly would have been living five hundred years ago?”

“ _Oh Christ._ ”

“Christ indeed. Come on and I'll show you the da Vinci version.”

Hermione started to feel faint.

Her room was exquisite. Gilded and crimson and true to his word, above a large, ornate vanity table, Blaise pointed out da Vinci's _Leda and the Swan_.

“Blaise, this place is unbelievable.”

“This is nothing, Granger, wait until you see the Manor. They've got an entire _wing_ devoted to supposedly lost art work.”

Hermione made an indistinct sound that might have been a whimper or possibly a sob, and moved further into her room, towards the gilded four poster bed she was sure could easily sleep the entire Weasley family from grandparents to grandchildren.

“Is the flat downstairs like this one?”

“It nice, but it's nothing like this. This is all a bit grand for those of you who haven't grown up around it.”

“No kidding,” said Hermione and Blaise chuckled.

“Get cleaned up and I'll meet you by the front door in an hour; there's a brilliant restaurant down the Grassmarket. My treat.”

 

* * *

 

Two and half hours later, Hermione and Blaise had made their way through three courses of some of the best food Hermione had ever tasted and were slowly finishing off their second bottle of wine. She was feel sleepy and contented and, overall, quite happy with life when Blaise decided to turn the conversation towards something she was hoping she could avoid now that she was in Edinburgh.

“So, Malfoy stopped by yours after we left last night.” It wasn't a question and Hermione's grip tightened on her wine glass.

“Yes, he stopped by to make sure I was ready for this morning and to see if I had any last minute questions,” she said casually although she felt anything but. Blaise pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“He didn't stop by mine. Didn't ask me if I had any last minute questions.” Hermione shot Blaise a curious look.

“I'm sure it was just precaution with this being my first project and all,” Hermione said and Blaise smirked at her.

“Oh, I'm sure.” Hermione frowned.

“What are you trying to get at, Zabini?” Blaise laughed quietly.

“I'm not trying to get at anything. The two of you do seem to be getting along much better recently.”

“Apart from when I'm throwing kettles at him, you mean?”

“Yes, apart from when you're throwing kettles at him.”

“I suppose we are. We work together, it was necessity.”

“Oh, I don't know about necessity, I'd almost say the two of you qualify as friends now.”

“Perhaps.”

“He seems quite fond of you.”

“Oh?

“And I know you're fond of him.”

“I think fond is maybe a bit strong-”

“Granger, I know you fancy Malfoy.”

“Good grief, Zabini, you're going mad.”

“Oh, please, do you know how many times I've had to watch you two make doe eyes at each other?”

“I do not make doe eyes!”

“Yes, you do, and the blushing and the smiles and the _flirting_ and the sexual tension too thick for even the sharpest of knives to cut.”

Well, really.”

“ _Well, really_ , it's about time that you two shagged and had done with it.” Hermione spluttered embarrassingly over the sip of wine she had just taken.

“That's quite enough, Zabini. I do not fancy Malfoy. I do not make doe eyes at him. I do not flirt. There is no sexual tension.”

“You know, I'd almost believe you except for the fact that I'm not blind and I'm not stupid.” Hermione sighed.

“What exactly is it you're expecting from me here?”

“The truth would be nice.”

“The truth? Fine. The truth is that I'm not blind either, and I would have to be to miss the fact that he is an exceptionally good-looking man. I will also concede that he is neither as idiotic nor as onerous as I used to think he was. At times, his company can actually be rather enjoyable. Not all the time, but sometimes. Just because I am aware of, and acknowledge, these facts does not mean that I fancy Malfoy.”

“You do realise that he told me about the almost kiss at your flat, right?”

“Which one?” Hermione froze and Blaise’s smile turned gleeful.

“ _Which one?_ ”

“Oh Christ, Zabini-”

“No! Absolutely not. You are not going to sit there and tell me that there has been more than one almost kiss between you and Draco and then try and make out that you're not attracted to him. You don't almost kiss people you're not attracted to.”

“Being attracted to and fancying someone are two completely different things.”

“No, they're not, stop grasping at straws. Even if they were, attraction still implies something more than acknowledging someone's attractiveness. I acknowledge that you are a beautiful woman, however I don't want your lips anywhere near mine because I am not attracted to you.”

“Look, Zabini, Malfoy has been … good to me. He gave me job when I needed one and sacrificed a lot to help me himself. On top of that he's taken my problems with –“ she pursed her lips and swallowed thickly. “With Stephenson and has made it a priority to ensure my safety. Naturally, my appreciation was going to manifest itself in some way.”

“So you're saying that your attraction to Malfoy is a manifestation of your appreciation of what he's doing for you? You've manifested the damsel in distress to his knight in shining white armour?” Hermione allowed herself a relived smile.

“Yes, that's exactly what it is.”

“And you think this attraction to Malfoy will naturally fizzle out, do you?”

“I know it will. In fact, I'd wager that by the time we get back next month I'll be completely over it.”

“Well, you'll have to excuse me if I'm inclined to disagree.”

“Look, I know you've got this idea-”

“There is no _idea_. You and Malfoy clearly have a pair of raging hard-ons for each other-”

“Jesus, Zabini!”

“-and there's nothing wrong with that. You're both single, intelligent and have a lot in common. Living in denial is only going to fuck you both up and result in you missing out on something potentially awesome.”

“I – I don't know what to say,” said Hermione helplessly, her head slowly moving back and forth. “Malfoy and I – it's not – we're not -”

“Forget it,” said Blaise, an exasperated sigh fluttering from his lips as he waved his hand dismissively at her. “Just – forget it.”

“You can't seriously expect me to just forget about this?”

“No, you're right, I can't,” Blaise conceded. “Just promise me you'll think about what I said, all right? Don't just completely disregard anything I've said or anything you might be feeling just because it's Draco. He's not the spoilt little rich boy with a Death Eater for a father anymore.”

“I know,” said Hermione swallowing thickly. “I _know_ he's not, and I'll think about what you said. I just think you're making a mountain out of a mole hill.”

“Well, we'll see,” said Blaise draining the last of his wine. “You ready to head back?” Hermione nodded and Blaise signalled the waiter.

When they apparated back to the flat, a small watery-eyed House Elf was waiting for them in the hallway. It jumped to help them remove their coats before bowing to them formally.

“Mistress has received an Owl,” the House Elf informed them sombrely in a voice which broke and croaked like a pre-pubescent boy's.

“Oh,” said Hermione flustered and the Elf eyed her derisively. Blaise coughed to hide his laugh.

“Where would Mistress like the letter brought?”

“Oh, erm, my room, please.” Again the House Elf bowed to them and disappeared with a sharp crack. “I didn't know there were House Elves here,” Hermione told Blaise accusingly.

“You're staying in Malfoy's flat and didn't think there would be House Elves?”

“It's positively barbaric-”

“Give it a rest, Granger. Save you spew for someone who cares.”

“It's not spew-”

“I don't care,” Blaise called as he strode away towards his bedroom and Hermione huffed angrily.

Hermione entered her bedroom to find a small silver tray placed neatly on her bed side table and on top of that sat a small white envelope. Her name was scrawled across the front in violet ink and the untidy, uneven letters were familiar. Terrifyingly familiar. Fear prickled at the nape of Hermione's neck as she opened the envelope with trembling fingers.

_Hermione, My Hermione,_

_You know how much I hate these games you play. You didn't think I would give up on you just because you had moved up to Scotland, did you? I will always find you. Never fear, we will be together soon my love._

_Yours always,_  
_Richard._

_P.S. I wouldn't suggest telling Malfoy about this letter. If he keeps getting in the way then I'll have to do something about his meddling and I know you wouldn't like that._

 

Short but sweet.

Hermione's stomach rolled violently and her entire body seemed to vibrate from the force of her trembling hands. He had found her. Stephenson had found her and now he was coming for her.

He would always come for her. He would always find her.

How had she ever thought that anyone could protect her from this, least of all Draco Malfoy who was four hundred miles away and Stephenson – well, Stephenson could be anywhere because they hadn't found him yet, had they? He had gotten away and he had disappeared and _they hadn't found him_.

And now he had found her.

Panic began to whirl inside her making her feel hot and cold and sickly. Bile rose in the back of her throat.

He had found her. He had found her and he was coming for her and nothing and no one was going to stop him. Not even Draco Malfoy. Least of all Draco Malfoy. Because what would Stephenson do to him to get to her? How many times had Stephenson shown a complete disregard for consequences, for other people, in order to get to her? How many times had he threatened her friends and their families?

No. Draco Malfoy could not help her because she wouldn't allow him to. Not any more – she wouldn't put him in the firing line. She wouldn't make his life one more for Stephenson to ruin.

Stephenson would come for her and there was nothing she could do to stop him. She would go down fighting, but it was her fight alone and, ultimately, her fate was sealed.

Decided, she stripped off her clothes and stumbled into bed naked, shivering and sweating at the same time.

Eventually, in the early hours of the morning, when sleep finally claimed her, Hermione dreamed of Stephenson. She dreamed of large, bulging eyes bright with excitement, his round face flushed and shining, the slack skin of his cheeks and jowls rippling and his teeth a sickening yellow, stained and crooked as his mouth stretched wide in a gollum-like smile. She dreamed of his hands, cold and clammy, on her skin as it crawled with revulsion beneath his fingers. In her dream she smelled his sour breath as it gusted over her face and his voice, nasally as he whispered to her “ _I'll always find you._ ”

When she woke she was sobbing and sweating and the taste of bile coated her mouth.

 

* * *

 

Blaise had just stepped out of the shower when the House Elf apparated into his bedroom and presented the letter to him.

“Mistress Hermione is asking me destroy this, Master Blaise, and Binky would not have been reading it, Sir, except Mistress is being very upset and Binky is hearing her cry over it, Master Blaise.”

“No, you did the right thing, Binky,” he mumbled as he stared down at the letter in his hands, his body furiously numb. “Tell Hermione to wait here for me. Tell her I need to check something with Draco, something to do with work.”

“Yes, Master Blaise.”

Ten minutes later, Blaise was stood in the study of Malfoy Manor handing the letter to a disgruntled, towel-clad Draco Malfoy.

“This had better be important, Zabini, I swear-” Draco cut off as his eye caught the name at the bottom of the parchment. A moment of charged silence ensued whilst Draco read the letter. “What the hell is this?”

“It came for Granger whilst we were out to dinner last night. Binky says she tried to get rid of it this morning,” said Blaise with a dark glower.

“She wasn't going to tell us about it?” Blaise shook his head once.

“Doesn't look like it.”

“That _fucking_ woman,” roared Draco slamming his fist down onto his desk. “Get back to Edinburgh – get back to the flat and _do not_ let Granger out of your sight, do you hear me? Neither of you are to leave the flat. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

“Yeah, okay, but listen,” said Blaise with a grimace, “she's bound to be pretty shaken up about this. Maybe think about calming down a bit before you get there?”

“She'll be lucky if I don't fucking kill her myself,” growled Draco. “Go, Zabini, _now_ , and do not let her out of your sight – not even to piss.”

“Yeah, all right, I'm going. I'll see you in a bit.”

As Blaise climbed back into the study's fireplace, he could only reflect on the fact that he was very glad not be Hermione Granger at this precise point in time.

 

Hermione knew that something was amiss when Blaise entered into the flat's small office space after returning from seeing Malfoy. She had been seated in one of the Armchair's by the fire with a large, leather-bound book spread across her knees and an untouched breakfast tray on a table to her right. When he came striding into the room, his linen shirt askew on his shoulders, he shot her a sharp look and settled into the armchair across from her.

“There's been a slight hiccup, Malfoy wants us to wait here until he contacts us.”

“Oh.” Hermione blinked and frowned. It almost seemed as if Blaise was angry with her. “What's happened?” Blaise shrugged, ran a hand tiredly over his face and averted his eyes.

“Best wait until we hear from Malfoy.”

Unease settled into Hermione's chest, clenching and unclenching because she couldn't shake the feeling that she had somehow upset Blaise, but she hadn't seen him since they had parted ways in the hall last night, so what could she have possibly done?

Unless –

No.

But then –

Unless he had found out about the letter?

But that was absurd, the House Elf had destroyed it that morning, no one else had seen it. Then again, these were Malfoy's House Elves. What if, instead of destroying the letter as she had asked, they had taken it to Blaise of Malfoy instead? But they had no reason – there was no logic to that. To disobey an order given by a witch?

Perhaps she should check. Speak to the House Elf and make sure that it had been destroyed and that no-one had intercepted it. Still, that didn't seem like the type of thing Blaise would do, reading someone else's private mail without permission. But wasn’t it better to be safe than sorry? Yes, it was best if she checked to make sure.

Hermione started to rise out of her seat.

“Where are you going?” snapped Blaise.

“Oh.” Hermione startled and dropped the book she had been holding. “I was just going to see Binky-”

“No,” said Blaise sharply. “We are to wait here until we hear from Malfoy. We do not leave this room.”

“I just -”

“I said no. Sit down.”

Uncharacteristically, Hermione complied and settled herself meekly back into her seat. She had done something. She had to have, there was no other reason why Blaise would be acting like this.

“Blaise, what am I in trouble for?”

Blaise sighed heavily and the look he cast over her this time was decidedly softer. He drew a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak when the study door flew open.

Malfoy looked _livid_.

His hair was dishevelled and clumped together as though he hadn't brushed it after his shower. His eyes and cheeks were bright with emotion and his cashmere jumper was bunched and twisted around his torso. Hermione's breath caught and her stomach clenched.

With a significant look at Hermione, Blaise quietly left the room and closed the door behind him.

Malfoy and Hermione stared at each other for a long time during which the colour of Malfoy's face deepened to an angry pink and his lips thinned out to a hard, white line. The mood in the room electrified and the silence seemed to press in on her and buzz loudly in her ears.

Hermione couldn't decide whether to be terrified in the face of Malfoy's fury or to be euphoric at the fact that he was even there – in front of her – so soon after parting and a whole month before she had expected to see him again.

Hermione startled when Malfoy moved. With a deft flick of his wrist he launched something white towards Hermione and she flinched away from it as it collided with her knees and dropped to the floor. There, in front of her, was Stephenson's letter.

Dread, anger, guilt, dismay – they all swarmed through her and dizziness seemed to settle heavily onto her body.

“Were you planning on telling me about this?” Oh, he was _incandescent_ with rage.

“I-”

“Were you?” he thundered on, and for all his voice was barely above a whisper he might as well have screamed at her. “Did you not think that I needed to know about this? The fact that he knows enough about where you are to get a letter to you? _Are you completely fucking brain-dead_?”

“Malfoy, _please_ -”

“How am I supposed to protect you from him when you won't even tell me about something as fucking monumental as that?” He spat pointing an accusatory finger at the letter at her feet. “Do you want him to get his hands on you? Is that what this is? A game of cat and mouse? Hide and seek and you get to hide behind me?”

“No! Of course not -”

“Then why,” Malfoy gritted out between clenched teeth, almost snarling at her, “ _why_ did you try to destroy the letter instead of coming straight to me with it?”

“Malfoy you can't stop him,” Hermione cried, “you can't, he'll just-”

“I can't?” Malfoy sneered. “Don't tell me what I can and cannot do. I am more than capable of catching a little cockroach like Stephenson.

“No you can't,” Hermione yelled, rearing out of her chair. “You can't and you won't because you're underestimating him. _You're underestimating him!_ Stephenson is vile, but he is so, so far from stupid. Time and again he's proven just how dangerous he can be.” Malfoy scoffed.

“ _You_ underestimate _me_ ,” he shot back, lip curling. “Dangerous Stephenson may be – in fact, out of the two of us, I think I'm the only one who is taking his threat seriously. Don't stand there and preach to me about underestimating him when you didn't even have any intention of telling me that he had contacted you – _that he had fucking found you_.”

“That isn't why I kept it from you,” growled Hermione in frustration, taking a few steps closer to Malfoy. “You don't understand.

“You're fucking right I don't understand,” said Malfoy closing the distance between them even more until there was barely a foot of space to separate them. “You'll have to correct me if I'm wrong but it seems to me that when you came looking for a department transfer you actually _wanted_ my help with Stephenson. And did I not deliver on that? Has he been able to get anywhere near you? The closest he's gotten is this fucking letter – which you weren't even going to tell me about – and you're doubting my ability to protect you? You'll forgive me for thinking so, but are you fucking enjoying this?”

“Jesus, Malfoy, no!”

“ _Then why didn't you tell me?_ ”

“Because you're going to end up fucking hurt, all right?” shouted Hermione. Malfoy stilled completely. Several heartbeats passed in which the only sound was that of their laboured breathing.

“I'm going to end up what?” croaked Malfoy. Hermione sighed wearily and rubbed at her temples with the pads of her fingers.

“You're going to end up hurt. Stephenson will hurt you for getting in the way – you know he will, he's done it before, I told you-”

“Hermione, I'm not one of your simpering little boyfriends who is going to let Stephenson scare them away -”

“He poisoned one of them!”

“-Christ, Granger, I lived with Death Eaters for half of my life and came out completely unharmed-”

“-this isn't the same-”

“-I'm the youngest department head in nearly half a millennia, do you even know what I'm capable of? The things I could do to keep you safe-”

“-Draco, I can't let him hurt you, not you-”

“- the things I _would_ do to keep you safe?” There it was. Hermione knew it was only ever going to be a matter of time before one of them slipped up.

They both stilled, breathing heavily and their eyes wide and vulnerable as the world seemed to tilt and shift beneath their feet. There was a precipice before them now and the drop was a deadly one. They were on the verge of something completely unknown and dangerous.

Hermione shifted forward.

“What would you do to keep me safe?” she asked, her voice small, almost pleading.

There was a pause, the length of a heartbeat and it pulsed in the air around them.

With a tortured moan, Draco tore himself away from Hermione and threw himself back towards the door. His breathing was ragged and loud and his eyes wild as they skipped over her. “Draco?” she moved towards him again and he pressed himself back against the cold wood of the door. Hermione stopped, feeling like a large, heavy stone had dropped through the top of her to settle miserably in her stomach. What was she doing?

“Fuck, Granger.” His voice was pure anguish and his expression panicked. “I – this isn't – I can't -”

The stone seemed to grow heavier and Hermione felt hot and cold all at once in the most nauseating way. It felt almost like humiliation. What was she _doing_?

“Forget it, Malfoy,” she said turning away from him. Her voice came out sounding a lot harsher than she had meant for it to. She heard him shift.

“Granger,” he said and he sounded closer. “Hermione.”

“I said forget it, Malfoy,” and this time she had meant the waspish sting in her words. She felt, rather than saw, him flinch back again. “You're right. I should have come to you the moment I got the letter. I won't make the same mistake again.”

“Hermione-”

“I'm sorry I didn't come to you straight away. I'll be sure to let you know from now on whenever I hear from Stephenson.”

“Hermione, will you just-”

“What?” snapped Hermione squaring her shoulders and turning to face him. “Is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Yes, there fucking is,” said Draco, pulling himself up and taking a measured step towards her. Hermione's shoulders stiffened. “We’re not going to just ignor-”

The door to the room flew open and smacked into the wall.

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Blaise not sounding very sorry at all. “But MacRannoch is going crazy at the delay and because he can't get a hold of you. He's on the Floo through in the main room.”

Draco turned to glare viciously at Blaise who merely raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Deal with MacRannoch and I'll speak to him when I can,” growled Draco.

“Yeah, I've already tried that one and he's not having any of it. He says if you don't go and speak to him now he's going to get in touch with Shacklebolt.” Draco made an aggravated noise in the back of his throat and threw a desperate look at Hermione which made her shiver. “Wait here,” he commanded her.

“I don't think we're going to have time for that,” said Blaise clearly annoyed. “I get that this deal with Stephenson is important but he's not here right now and I think out priority should be the project right now. We can sort this out tonight.”

“Excuse me?” said Draco dangerously as he turned to face Blaise. “Who do you think-”

“He's right,” said Hermione cutting him off, placing a small hand on Draco's arm to keep him from moving forward. “We need to focus on the project right now. Go talk to MacRannoch.”

Draco opened his mouth to reply but seemed to think better of it and cut himself off. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes and turned a stern expression on Hermione. “This conversation is not over,” he said and then strode past Blaise out of the room. Blaise watched him leave over his shoulder before turning back to Hermione with a wide grin only to have it falter at the dark look she had trained on him.

“What was that?”

“That was the last time I ever listen to anything you have to say regarding me and Draco Malfoy.”

 

* * *

 

Draco straightened up from the fireplace with a tired sigh and dusted off his knees. MacRannoch was a difficult man to deal with at the best of times and for someone who was so woefully incompetent, he certainly was demanding.

“All sorted?” Draco spun to find Blaise leaning against the doorway.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “All sorted.” Blaise nodded and straightened himself.

“Listen, Draco, I'm sorry about back there, I was just-”

“Don't worry about it, you did the right thing.” Blaise nodded again and crossed his arms across his chest. He rocked back on his heels as he appraised Draco.

“That looked like a pretty intense conversation I interrupted back there,” he said carefully. Draco shot him an annoyed look.

“Yeah,” he said, “something like that.”

“Certainly too intense to have been talking about Stephenson,” said Blaise and Draco just stared back at Blaise evenly. “That was the sort of intense that involves feeling and emotions.” Again Draco said nothing. “Come one, man. Give me something to work with here.

“Like what?”

“What was said?”

“Nothing was said.”

“What do you mean nothing was said?”

“I mean nothing was said - what do you think you interrupted?”

“Oh, shit, you're kidding right?”

“No,” said Draco moving to sit down on one of the chairs and resting his elbows on his knees. He ran a tired hand through his hair. Was it really not even midday yet? “No, I am not kidding.”

“Fuck, Draco,” Blaise sounded horrified. “If I'd known-”

“You still would have had to do the same thing,” said Draco. “Besides, I think you might have done me a favour. I think I fucked up a bit.”

“Yeah,” said Blaise rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, she – ah – she might have mentioned that.” Draco's head snapped up.

“What did she say?” Blaise grimaced.

“Just that she wasn't going to go around making a fool of herself in front of you.” Draco snorted bitterly.

“I can honestly say she wasn't the one who made a fool of herself. Again.”

“What happened?” Draco shrugged and gestured helplessly.

“She was – she was _there_. It was all right there. I think if I'd tried to make a move she would have gone for it as well. I just – freaked out.”

“But why?” Draco pulled a face.

“I – ah – well – I never told you, but Astoria came to see me the other night.”

“She _what_?”

“Yeah,” said Draco nodding slowly. “She was meant to have married Adrian Pucey five days ago.”

“Meant to have?”

“She didn't go through with it,” said Draco. “Said she realised she didn't love him and called it off the night before.”

“Jesus fuck!” swore Blaise and Draco snorted appreciatively. “So what did she want with you?”

“What do you think she wanted?”

“Please tell me you're joking this time.”

“I wish I were,” said Draco with a weary sigh. “She said it had been a mistake for us to split up. We made sense together and she couldn't imagine her life with anyone else.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said-” Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably and looked up into the incredulous face of Blaise. “I said I needed to think about it.”

“ _No_.” Was all Blaise said, his face a mask of horror.

“I just said I'd think about it. Christ, Blaise, it's not like I got engaged again.”

“Draco, the woman is a succubus – the bad kind. You cannot do this.”

“I never said I was going to, and besides, what other options do I have? It's not like women are lining up for a shot at me, is it?” Blaise snorted.

“Firstly, yes they are. Secondly, Granger.”

“What the fuck has Granger got to do with any of this?”

“Fuck off, Draco. You can't tell me she doesn't factor into this at all?” Draco made an angry noise somewhere between a growl and a grunt and dropped his head miserably into his hands.

“Holy shit,” said Blaise gleefully. “I was only trying to play Devil's Advocate there. I didn't realise Granger _actually_ factored into this decision.”

Draco didn't reply because up until that moment, neither had he. Nothing more was said between the two men for a moment as they both reflected upon the implications of this realisation.

“You can't go back to her, Draco. Not now – not when Granger-” Blaise trailed off. A moment later Draco nodded and stood.

“You're right. I can't go back to her.” He neglected to acknowledge Hermione's place in his decision. He had enough on his plate without trying to tackle those sorts of feelings. Blaise, mercifully, left it alone. “We better get out to the site. Have you sent Granger on ahead?”

“Yeah I sent her on with Benson and Hobbs,” said Blaise. “But, uh, _we_?”

“Yeah, MacRannoch was throwing a fit about the contractors – probably because I hired them – and was threatening to throw them off the project and replace them with two of his men. This thing is way too important to have two of his ghouls fuck it up for us. So, it looks like I'm coming onto the project a month early as head field agent whilst MacRannoch takes head contact instead of me.” Draco sighed long long-sufferingly.

“Does that mean I'm going back as acting head of DoM?” Blaise asked hopefully. Draco eyed him in annoyance.

“No, I need you here. I'm going to give Eros the chance to keep an eye on things whilst I'm gone.”

“And the contractors?”

“The contractors are doing an admirable job.” Draco sniffed. Blaise grinned at him.

“It's a Malfoy company isn't it?”

“Cepheus,” said Draco succinctly and Blaise let out a whoop of laughter.

“Your _cousin_? Merlin, you lot do like to keep it in the family, don't you?”

“How do you think we're all so rich?” he sneered and then waved a hand to cut off Blaise's reply. “Not now. I need you to get down to the site and make sure MacRannoch doesn't fuck things up. I'm going to Floo Eros and let him know the good news, then let the Elves know to bring my stuff through. I'll be down as soon as I can.” Blaise sketched a mocking salute and then strode out of the room, a large grin curling his mouth.

Draco was glad to be coming on project a month early. Unfortunately that had nothing to do with professional responsibility and everything to do with Hermione Granger.


End file.
